


But Things Aren't Clear

by kitschradio



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, M/M, soul searching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-15 18:46:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1315363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitschradio/pseuds/kitschradio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Nick are at two different stages in their lives. It's never been a problem until now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own One Direction, any of its members, Nick Grimshaw or any of the hipster clique. This is all very fictional.

**But Things Aren't Clear**

**i.**

Harry's sunburnt. His shirt feels like sandpaper on his shoulder blades, and his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose are bright red. Gemma gives him an unimpressed look when she picks him up at the airport.

"You're going to peel," she says, hugging him. He maneuvers his duffle behind his back so he can grip her tight.

"Shut up," he says, squeezing her until she grunts. "I fell asleep."

"Golf will do that," she says solemnly, pulling back to eye him up and down. Her hair is blue and lavender. "You look good."

"You too," says Harry. "I like your hair."

"I like your sunglasses."

"Too bad about your face, though," Harry says, and Gemma shouts and punches him on the arm.

"You bastard! I was gonna say that."

"I know you were, that's why I said it first."

They start toward the other side of the tarmac, and she passes over the keys to his Range Rover. "I picked it up just before I came to get you. I only had time for a quick walkthrough."

"How's it look?" Harry asks, smiling. It's been months and months, over a year, and his house is _finally_ finished.

"It looks good," says Gemma. "Swanky. Really good. There's still some pieces to hang and stuff and there aren't enough seats in the living room. We'll get you all set up after the weekend."

"Can't wait to see it," Harry says, already excited. It's been finished for weeks, but the anticipation has really only hit since he got on the flight back to London. He hasn't ever had a house that's just been his own.

Gemma has to go into work so he drops her off before he heads for home. He has the gate key written down on a bit of paper in his pocket, because he hasn't had to use it in so long, and when he pulls into the drive it looks the same as it did the last time he saw it. He turns his car off and gets out, grabs his rucksack from the back seat and finds his house key.

It's been a long time since he's stepped inside, and it looks completely different to the last time he checked in. In essence, he swapped the kitchen with the living room and made the dining room a lot smaller. The full chef's kitchen is absolutely massive, with granite countertops and dark wood cupboards and brand new appliances. He also got new wood floors put in, and the gym now includes a pool.

He does a quick walkthrough. There's only a sofa, a coffee table and a TV on its stand on the floor in the living room, so it looks sadly bare. The art he's bought that's been in storage is leaning against the wall in the living room and the small office just off it, to be hung when the rest of the furniture he ordered arrives on Monday morning. The huge garden has been seen to by a landscape architect; it's a bit sad right now in the winter, but he's been promised it will be gorgeous in the spring. 

None of the bedrooms on the first floor are furnished yet. It's all arriving on Monday with the rest of the furniture. The walls have been repainted though and there's new carpet, and both bathrooms have been renovated. The second floor is just the master bedroom, which has grey walls and a huge window with a cushioned window seat. He has a new bed and mattress that's already been delivered, though no chest of drawers or bedside table yet. The en-suite has been enlarged to include both a shower and a bath.

He gets all of his luggage up to his room and leaves it on the floor, pulling his toiletries bag out of the biggest one.

The bathroom has tiled floors and walls and an arched stone multi-headed shower. There's enough room for several people to fit in it comfortably, should it ever be needed. Harry turns the water on and strips down, checking his reflection in the mirror with a frown. He looks tired, and the sunburn on his nose and cheeks and the backs of his shoulders is really obvious. He fights the urge to pick at it where it's already starting to peel whilst he waits for the water to heat up, and once it's warm enough he steps under the spray.

It's good to be home, and his shower is amazing. He washes his hair and his body in a gel that smells like vanilla and has a lazy, satisfying wank. When he's done, he dries off, slides into his bed and is asleep within seconds.

 

 

The first thought he has when he wakes up is that Nick should come over. He has no clue what time it is, but there's cloudy sunlight coming in through the window that makes him think _morning_. His phone is buried in the duvet where he left it. He clears his throat and unlocks his phone and dials.

Jetlag has rendered him stupid. It's Friday morning, and Nick is on air. Harry's still blushing when he hangs up, the sound of Finchy and Fiona cat-calling in the background reverberating in his head. He gets out of bed, stomach rumbling, and sits downstairs on his sofa with a cup of tea and his laptop to do a Waitrose order. He's just finished up when Nick rings.

"Sorry, sorry," Harry says, because he knows Nick is going to get a lot of shit for it. "I didn't think."

Nick blows a raspberry. "It's fine! It was funny. Are you home now?"

"Finally, yeah. Landed yesterday and just slept for, like, eighteen hours."

"All that beach holiday is exhausting, I know," Nick teases.

"I was very busy," Harry grumbles, scratching his nose. "Hey, do you have plans today?"

"Puppy has to go to the vet's this afternoon, but not really other than that. You want to do something tonight?"

Harry's grinning like an idiot. Just hearing Nick's voice feels good. "Yeah, you should come over here. And stay, for like, the weekend. I'll cook dinner. I want you to see the house."

Nick scoffs dramatically. "How do you know I don't have _plans_ this weekend, Harry Styles? I'm quite popular, you know."

"Oh, well, I mean if you do then, like, obviously. But if you don't, you could stay."

"'Course I'll stay, you idiot. I haven't seen you in fucking weeks. I expect to be treated like a flipping princess all weekend."

Harry rolls around in his bed, chest feeling full. "I'll have you a paper tiara ready."

"Diamond," says Nick.

Harry snorts. "All right, diamond."

"There's a good lad. I'm almost home. I'll come over round six, that sound all right?"

"Perfect. See you later, alligator."

"You're an idiot," says Nick, delighted, and they hang up.

 

 

Twelve people have a key to Harry's house. Nick lets himself in just as Harry's putting the finishing touches to dinner.

"Oggy! Oggy! Oggy!" Nick calls.

"Oi! Oi! Oi!" Harry shouts back. 

Nick gives a dramatic gasp. "Who is it?" he asks, in the high-pitched, excited voice that means he's talking to his dog. "Did you hear that, Puppy? Who is it? Is Harry home? Did you hear Harry? Go get her!"

There's a great clacking of little dog toenails on hardwood floor that has Harry grinning. He sets the pan he's just pulled from the oven onto two waiting trivets on the counter and crouches down as Puppy comes barreling around the corner from the hall. She skids to a stop, searches the living room with her eyes and barks twice. When she spots Harry in the doorway of the kitchen she goes stock still and then sounds the alarm, howling, before taking off at him with tremendous speed.

Harry catches her, laughing, and is immediately assaulted with dog breath, licks all over his face, and her little paws on his chest. Nick strolls into the living room a moment later, in argyle socked feet and damp from the bit of rain outside. The way his face lights up in a smile makes Harry's chest tight.

"Harry Harry _Sty_ les," Nick sing-songs. Harry picks Puppy up and goes to greet him, pulling him in for a one-armed embrace, Nick's dog caught between them. Nick smells like rain and his expensive aftershave. He smacks a kiss to Harry's temple. "Hiya, Pup. How'd those white sandy beaches treat you?"

"Good," Harry answers, setting Puppy on the floor. She immediately jumps at his knees, tongue lolling out of her mouth. "Was nice to be kind of lost to the world for a bit."

"That's going to peel, you know," Nick says, pointing.

Harry rubs at his sunburnt nose. "That's what Gemma said."

"This is why we spray tan, Hazza."

"I fell asleep on the beach."

"Of course you did," says Nick, looking fond. He gestures to Harry's apron, which has a print of a tuxedo on it. "Very dapper."

"Like it?" Harry asks, holding his arms out so Nick can see it properly. "I reckoned special occasion and all that."

Nick hooks his forefingers into the pockets of Harry's apron and tugs. Harry goes willingly, and when he tilts his head up, Nick's mouth catches his own. Harry's skin tingles, a familiar thrum just under the surface. Nick pulls away when Harry can't stop smiling.

"Something funny?"

Harry shakes his head, dimple pressed into his cheek. "You make me feel like my whole body's gone to sleep."

"Oh, thanks. I'll just leave you to your nap then," says Nick, sticking his nose in the air and feigning a step backward.

"No, no!" Harry protests, laughing. He grips Nick by the lapels of his jacket and drags him back in close. Nick is grinning as he stumbles. He catches himself with his hands on Harry's waist and one foot between both of Harry's bare ones. "Not like that. I meant like static. Pins and needles all over, y'know? In a good way."

"You're such a weirdo," Nick tells him admiringly. Most of the time Harry still feels like he's trying really hard to be cool enough to be Nick's friend, but sometimes Nick looks at him like he's the only thing in the world he could ever want and it gets Harry so hot he feels like someone's lit his blood on fire. Nick rests their foreheads together, digging his fingers into the soft of Harry's hips. "Missed you, weirdo."

Harry lets go of Nick's jacket to slide his hands underneath it and ease it back off Nick's shoulders. Nick slants their mouths together again, touches his tongue to the seam of Harry's lips and presses in when Harry opens his mouth. Nick's jacket hits the floor with a soft thud and it's like a starter pistol going off. Suddenly they can't get close enough, fast enough. Nick's teeth dig into Harry's bottom lip and Harry moans into his mouth and walks him backwards. 

They trip over Nick's jacket and then the edge of the rug in the middle of the room. Harry threads his fingers into Nick's hair and follows Nick's tongue back into his mouth, licking over the bottoms of Nick's teeth. Harry's dick is already chubbing up in his jeans and his head is spinning, blood roaring in his ears. They don't break apart until he accidentally backs Nick into the corner of the coffee table. 

"Ow, fuck," Nick gasps, his mouth wet and red. His hair is all fucked up around Harry's hands and his fingers are digging into the sunburn on Harry's back. 

"Sorry, sorry," Harry mutters, untangling one of his hands from Nick's hair to get it up under the back of his striped t-shirt and feel skin. "You feel so good. Fuck, I missed you."

"Thought you brought me here to wine and dine me," says Nick. He mouths down Harry's jaw to his neck and Harry bites out a whine, rutting his hips into Nick's. Nick is tugging at the strings of his apron to untie it.

"Booty call," Harry pants, "this was always a booty call. You're lucky I answered the door in more than just the apron."

"Arsehole," says Nick. Together they get the apron over Harry's head and it drops to the floor too. Harry's shirt is rucked up. Nick kisses him again, biting, breathless. He's hard and Harry can feel the long line of his dick against his hip. "You said you wanted to show me your house."

"I'm taking you on a tour right now," Harry argues, urging Nick to get moving again. "This is my sofa."

Nick laughs and spins them around. The seat hits the back of Harry's knees and Harry topples down, dragging Nick with him. The sofa is huge and deep, tufted dark brown leather soft as butter under Harry's back.

"I like it," says Nick, hitching Harry's legs around his waist, his hands so hot on Harry's thighs, even through the denim. Harry feels desperate for him, like he'll never be okay again if they doesn't have Nick right this second. Nick braces himself with one elbow on the cushion next to Harry's head and drops his head to Harry's neck, breathing hard, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to Harry's throat. 

"Shit," Harry groans, shoving his hands between them to pull at the button of Nick's jeans. "Shit, yeah, Nick, fuck, want you to come on me."

"Jesus, Pup," Nick murmurs. His voice is low and hot, thick with arousal. He jerks when Harry reaches into his open fly and under the elastic of his pants to get a hand around him. He feels big and hot against Harry's palm, wet at the tip when Harry pulls him out. Harry's mouth is watering; he could come just from this. He strokes Nick's cock from base to tip and back down, pulling the foreskin with him so he can thumb over the slit and Nick lets out a growl. "You too, c'mon."

"Make me feel like an idiot," Harry tells him, helping get his own jeans unfastened with his free hand. Nick gets on his knees and tugs Harry's jeans and underwear down off his hips. Harry's dick springs free with a wet smack against his belly and they both laugh, kissing messily, Harry flushing bright red all down his chest. "Could've made me come in my pants just lookin' at me."

"I'd rather see it," Nick says, shoving his own jeans and pants down out of the way until they're both bare and pressed all together, stretched out long on the sofa. 

"It's been too fucking long," Harry agrees. He brackets Nick between his bent knees and Nick buries his fingers in Harry's hair, rocking his hips down hard. Harry sinks his teeth into Nick's shoulder, eyes rolling back in pleasure that shoots hotly up his spine. Nick pants against Harry's neck, rucking Harry's shirt up with his hand to fuck against his abs easier. His fingers find one of Harry's nipples and pinches sharply, just the way Harry likes, and his head falls back, mouth open and nostrils flaring. He puts one foot flat on the sofa for leverage and ruts up into each thrust. He palms Nick's bum with both hands, and feels his arsecheeks clench.

"God you're gorgeous," Nick breathes, kissing Harry again, and again, light presses of his lips that drive Harry mad. He pinches Harry's nipple again and grinds down, their dicks sliding together easily now, precome slick on both their skin. "Look so fucking good, babe."

"Gonna come," Harry grunts. His whole body coils up with it, good feeling surging all through him. He digs his fingernails into Nick's back and bites into his own lip. He's sweating, hair stuck to his forehead and temples, eyes wet with how close he is.

"Yeah, Christ, let me see you," Nick coaxes in his rough voice, and Harry loses it.

"Oh, _oh_ , oh God." 

His toes curl, everything going hazy and white, and his back arches and he spurts hard and copious all over himself, and all over Nick.

"Sh-shit," Nick stutters, trembling above him, mouth open and face red and his breath hot on Harry's skin. Harry rides through it with him, urging Nick on with his heels digging into the backs of his thighs. 

"C'mon, God. Nick, do it."

Nick rubs off on Harry's belly roughly once, twice more and comes with a quiet, stilted sound that catches in his throat. He looks so good, his face washed out in pleasure, his cock jerking against Harry's stomach, his eyes clenched shut. He looks so hot and vulnerable that Harry can hardly bear it. He lifts his head and catches Nick's lips, sliding his hands up Nick's back over his t-shirt and into his sweat damp hair, cradling the back of his head and licking into his mouth as he comes down.

They snog lazily on the sofa for ages, catching their breath, touching each other. Nick's grip on Harry's hip eases until he's moving his thumb in slow circles in the hollow of the bone, and his other hand strokes up and down Harry's side in big sweeps. Harry's t-shirt is bunched uncomfortably under his arms and his nipples are sore. Nick is heavy on top of him. Nick touches his mouth to Harry's over and over, chaste and sweet, little wet smacks of sound between them. When they finally break apart Harry's a mess, lips chapped and come smeared all over his stomach.

"Good sofa," he rasps, patting at the cushion like it's a dog, and then he pats Nick on the head much the same way. "Good Nick."

"If anything," Nick drawls, nosing at Harry's cheek. "I'm a _no_ -goodnik."

"Ha. Clever."

"That's why they put me on the radio," Nick says. 

"Oh, shit, dinner is probably cold." Harry lifts his head and strains to look into the kitchen, as though the chicken laksa he prepared might wave at him to let him know it's all right. 

"Worth it," says Nick. "You're a mess."

"Worth it," Harry echoes, baring his teeth in a grin. "You remember where the toilet is?"

"If your I'm-a-grown-up-now kitchen hasn't taken over that, too."

Harry shoves at Nick's face. "Shut up."

"Awwww," Nick makes kissy faces at him and talks in a baby voice. "Little Harry Styles, all grown up with his own big boy house! Who's a big boy? You are!"

"Piss off, you loser," Harry tells him, pushing him away with hands and feet whilst Nick struggles to smack kisses all over his face. "You're such a dickhead."

"You'd think you'd have learnt that by now," Nick says.

Harry kicks him in the thigh. "Put that away and go get a flannel, you've got come drying in your chest hair, and I've got dinner to see to. Where's my apron?"

"Simmer down, Agnes, it's right over there," says Nick, pointing. Before Harry can look round, Nick grips both Harry's knees and spreads them as much as he can with Harry's jeans caught around his thighs, and leans down to kiss the tip of his nose. "Welcome home, Pussycat."

"Whoa-Whoa-Whoa-oh," Harry sings, just loud enough to be heard between them. Nick presses his finger into Harry's dimple and Harry scrunches his nose up. "Thanks."

While Nick wanders off down the hall to clean himself up, Harry tucks himself back into his jeans and gets to his feet. He uses a clean tea towel to wipe himself down and folds Nick's jacket over the back of a squashy armchair that matches his sofa and grabs his apron off the floor, hanging it up in the pantry and tossing the tea towel onto the floor in the laundry room. The bathroom is on the other side of the wall and Harry can hear Nick whistling and turning on all the taps, testing water pressure in the shower. He rolls his eyes in commiseration at Puppy, who's been following him around loyally, and returns to the pan he left on the counter.

"How's my dinner?" Nick asks, loping into the kitchen all freshened up and set to rights again. He looks around the kitchen and whistles, duly impressed. "Swanky, mate. Place looks great. Love the fuckin' mirror in that bathroom, too. And the shower thingy."

"It was mostly Iva," says Harry. He's put as many personal touches as he could think to into the house, but his interior designer still deserves the majority of the credit, certainly for anything someone like Nick might find tasteful. He shrugs humbly and pulls a knife out of the block to cut through one of the larger pieces of chicken. It steams. "And I think this is still warm enough. Says something for our stamina, doesn't it?"

"I have the stamina of three lions," Nick says.

Harry blinks. "Is that a lot?"

"Of stamina? Or lions?"

"I don't know. Both?"

Nick considers that for a few moments, and then shrugs. "No idea, but I stand by it. Where're the plates?"

They eat on the living room floor with the telly on to one of the cooking channels, sitting side-by-side in front of the coffee table, occasionally feeding Puppy bits of asparagus left over from their starter. She eats the strangest things.

"Does that make her, like, wee smell?" Harry asks, watching her lick the last of it from Nick's fingers. Their plates are clean and Harry is pleasantly full and feeling lazy. He gestures meaninglessly. "Like asparagus does with people?"

"Can't say I've ever really investigated," Nick offers, yawning and patting his belly. He slumps back against the front of the sofa and gives Harry a wan smile. "That was delicious. If this, uh, popstar thing doesn’t work out, it's chef's school for you."

"Right on." Harry shoots finger guns at him and dissolves into giggles at the look Nick gives him. Nick tries not to smile but doesn't manage it, shaking his head.

"Why do I hang out with you again?"

"You love me," Harry says, and then burps loudly. "Excuse me. Hey, where's your _stuff_?"

"Dare to be drug free, Young Mr Styles," Nick advises in a serious voice. He grunts when Harry smacks him in the stomach with the back of his hand. "Oi, oi, easy on the goods, love."

"That isn't your goods."

"I've just eaten half my bodyweight in chicken laksa. It's my goods enough."

Harry makes a face at him. Nick makes one back. "You brought a bag, didn't you? You're staying? I've probably got enough of your clothes here to do you for a weekend."

"My bag is by the door with Puppy's bed," Nick says, waving a lazy hand in that general direction. "I thought I should bring it, since she's a bit odd in new places."

"I got her a bed," says Harry, pointing through the doorway to the small office that used to be the kitchen. "It's in there. I bought food and water bowls too, but I don't remember what kind you feed her."

Nick's staring at him, instead of at the chocolate thing Nigella is making on the telly. Harry looks at him out of the corner of his eye, and when Nick doesn't stop, he turns his head to see him properly, eyebrow raised.

"You bought her things? For your house?"

Harry shrugs, glad that his cheeks are already sunburnt because blood rushes to them. Has he gone too far? He does that sometimes. He doesn't mean to. "Well, I mean. I'm going to watch her when you're away next month. And I reckoned, y'know, you might be over kind of often? I just, like. She should be comfortable here, right?"

Nick doesn't say anything for what feels like ages, but then his whole face lights up in the softest smile, and he reaches for Harry with both hands. Harry unfolds himself to clamber over his friend, straddling his lap, hands on his shoulders. Nick cups his cheek. "That's so. You're so thoughtful."

"Don't sound so shocked, will you? You're like, my best friend."

"You have lots of those," Nick says, still smiling. He kisses Harry's chin. "You don't buy sleepover things for their pets."

"Yeah, well," Harry shrugs, pleased and embarrassed all at once. "They're not you, are they?"

Nick bites his bottom lip and tips his head back onto the sofa, looking distracted. Harry pokes his cheeks. "All right, there? Getting sleepy, old man?"

"Shut up," Nick whispers, and kisses him. "Are you going to show me the rest of your new digs or what?"

Harry frames Nick's face in his hands and dips his head to kiss him again, and then one more time for luck. "All right, yeah. Lemme clean up."

They take their dishes to the sink and Harry rinses them off and Nick slots them into the dishwasher, and then they let Puppy out into the garden and Harry walks Nick through the house. The layout hasn't changed much beyond the kitchen moving and it's so bare without furniture, but Nick is a good sport anyway. He "oo"s and "ah"s in all the right places and flicks on the pink neon "Love" light that sits on Harry's sleek desk in the office where Puppy's new bed is filled with a few toys. 

Nick is really into the pool in the gym, which is ice blue in the moonlight coming in through the skylight. He inspects the cupboard size in each of the bedrooms on the first floor. He likes Harry's mattress quite a lot. Harry has to drag him off his bed to lead him up the spiral staircase to the roof terrace.

He had a landscape architect design up here as well, and it's come together more beautifully than Harry could've dreamed. It's a big rooftop garden with a small courtyard in the middle, the perimeter fenced in and lined with white fairy lights. The courtyard has a couple of knockout rose bushes that are well out of season and a hydrangea bush on the other side. There's a fire pit in the very centre, and two chairs and a sofa on either side of it, all protected from the rain with a glass canopy.

It's freezing out, but it's stopped raining and Nick is still looking around, so Harry starts a fire in the stone pit and drops down onto the sofa. A few minutes later Nick appears with Puppy in tow. He's got a blanket out of the chest in the bedroom. Harry didn't even realize he'd gone back downstairs.

"This is fucking romantic," Nick says, sitting down next to him. They curl up under the blanket, pressed together from shoulders to knees. "I feel proper wooed."

"You wooed," says Harry, terribly amused with himself.

"What?"

"Y'know. Like, 'you would'."

Nick clears his throat. "Right."

"Tumbleweed," Harry drawls, smiling. He feels sleepy and warm and Nick smells good. It's not even that late, a little after nine, maybe, but he feels oddly exhausted for having just spent a week on a beach in Jamaica. Nick hums thoughtfully when Harry tells him so.

"There's something about home, though," he says. "Like even when you go on holiday, it's nice to have a few days back home before you go to work again, yeah? Like a little post-holiday holiday. And now you've got a bed all your own. It'll feel more comfortable than anything else."

"I slept here last night," Harry points out. "Still tired."

"You're a social creature, Pup," Nick replies, draping his arm over Harry's shoulders. "Sleep best with someone next to you."

Harry hums, feeling thoughtful and lazy. He hasn't seen Nick in ages but it feels like he never left. It's been _weeks_. "Hey. Tell me about you."

Nick huffs a laugh. "What about me?"

"Everything. It's been ages since we caught up. What's new, Pussycat?"

"Whoa-whoa-whoa-oh," Nick sings, loud enough that is startles Puppy, who's curled up at their feet. His hand is dangling in front of Harry's chest and Harry grabs it in both his own. Nick lets out a deep breath and tilts his head back to rest on the cushion. "Well, let's see. Coxy's last show is coming up. Planning on bawling my eyes out right there on air."

"Oh, right, that'll be sad. She'll probably cry with you. I'll cry when I listen, promise."

"Good," Nick says. "What else? My brother won thirty pounds on a scratch card. Went on about it for days, like he'd just been crowned queen. Reckons he's lucky now. And let's see...Oh! I'm going to see Prince next week!"

"Really?" Harry asks. "Aw, dude, that's awesome! Are you going with Collette?"

"Yeah, yeah, and Billy. Remember him?"

"Sure, yeah." Harry does. Billy is twenty-one and gorgeous and smitten with Nick. Harry doesn't know if they're sleeping together, can't bring himself to ask. He's met him a few times, and signed a silly plastic guitar for him months ago. He's nice, and funny, and annoyingly free of acne. Harry doesn't know him very well. "That'll be fun, though. Are you going to meet him after?"

"God no, I'd piss myself. I mean, maybe. Oh, hey, Prince Charles is coming to the BBC building next week, too. I hope he brings Kate Middleton."

Harry snorts. "Are you serious? What's he going to do there?"

"We're letting him co-host with Greg. They'll both be in formal dresses."

Harry peers at him warily. "Really?"

"No!" Nick laughs, holding his hands in front of his face when Harry punches at him. "You're so gullible, Styles!" Nick crows. Harry wrestles him down onto to sofa properly, pinning his arms above his head and sitting on him triumphantly. Nick's laughing and laughing, breathless, the freckles on his face stark in the light from the fire. He's always very handsome but he's really pretty, sometimes, too, even though Harry would never tell him.

"Two Princes in one week," Harry says lightly. "Not too shabby."

"Well it's not breaking America or winning a Grammy Award like One Direction's got, but it'll do."

"We haven't won a Grammy."

Nick blinks up at him innocently. "Oh, that's right, you haven't, have you?"

"Oh, shut up," Harry says. He lets go of Nick's wrists and presses their palms together, linking their fingers, torsos touching. Nick parts his lips and Harry kisses him, slow and wet and thorough, until Nick sighs against his mouth and Harry pulls back to see his face. He's just lovely, Nick is. Harry squeezes his hands. "Think there's a bed downstairs waiting for us," he murmurs, voice low.

"Brand new," Nick agrees. "We'd best break it in."

Harry's staring. It's probably a bit creepy, but he can't help it. He wants to memorize every inch of Nick while he can, before one or the other of them is gone again. "Have I mentioned that I missed you?"

"Not enough."

Harry laughs and sits up. Nick follows him, jarring Harry in his lap. Harry stands up and turns the gas off in the fire pit. It's very dark in the wake of it. By the time his eyes have adjusted, Nick is on his feet too. Harry hooks his fingers into Nick's belt loops and tugs him in so he can kiss him in the dark. "I missed you."

"Getting there," Nick teases. "One more time."

Harry kisses his nose and his cheek, and his mouth and his neck. "I missed you." 

"Shut up," says Nick, but he's smiling. "Take me to bed."

 

 

Harry wakes up to a sound smack to his arse. When he opens his eyes, it's to find Nick lying on his side in what he probably thinks is a seductive pose, braced on his elbow with his cheek in his hand like a pin-up model. He's got the white sheets pulled up just enough to cover his crotch and he's splashed in morning sunlight. He daintily covers his lips with the tips of his fingers and bats his eyelashes. Harry rolls onto his back, laughing out loud, but he's just woken up and his voice is scratchy.

"See something you like?" Nick asks. He sits up cross-legged and leans over Harry and shimmies his bosom in his face. "My tits get you goin'?"

"You idiot," says Harry, delighted.

"I know how much you love boobs," Nick explains, still shaking his hairy chest in Harry's direction. Harry reaches up and pinches one of his nipples, quick like a snake, and Nick yelps and crosses his arms. "Oi!"

"What time is it?" Harry yawns, scrubbing a hand over his face. He feels well-rested, for once. Maybe there's something to what Nick was saying about sleeping in his own bed last night. With company.

"Half eight. I made breakfast."

Harry blinks at him. "You did?"

Nick shrugs. "Well I got dressed and walked down to the caff and bought some Danish pastries. And then I brought them home and got undressed, because you were still asleep. And then I got bored and hungry."

"Busy morning," says Harry, grinning. "That'll do, I'm starved."

"I knew you would be," Nick sniffs. They've sort of agreed to spend the weekend in, enjoying each other's company and avoiding paparazzi. Harry's pantry is fully stocked and Nick enjoys cooking a good fry up of a Saturday morning. Bit weird that he went to the café which is a good fifteen minute walk. Harry nudges him in the knee with his foot.

"All right? I've got food here, y'know."

Nick smiles easily. "'Course I am! I just woke up early, fancied a raisin pastry, and Puppy needed a stroll anyway. She's already had a piss on every inch of your garden."

"Which bed was she asleep in?" Harry demands.

"That doesn't really matter, does it?"

Harry laughs, triumphant (of _course_ she slept in the bed he bought her), and Nick drags him up by his necklace and kisses him quiet. "Shut up, you. Breakfast and then a swim?"

"You can't swim right after eating," says Harry, scandalized, lips tingling.

"That's only a myth," says Nick, heaving himself out of bed and looking around the floor for his discarded underwear. "Look it up on the internet."

Harry does, just to be safe.

They eat at the kitchen island, both in nothing but their pants. Nick's bought out half the bakery; there's croissants and some pain-au-chocolat, six or seven Danish pastries in various flavours, and a loaf for toast with jam. Nick makes his way through a croissant, two pastries and a piece of toast, all in about ten minutes. Harry's just finished making their tea.

"Hungry?" Harry says, setting Nick's mug down in front of him.

"Worked up an appetite, didn't I?" Nick leers. He's got a piece of raisin on his teeth. Harry covers his face, laughing.

He eats a pain-au-chocolat and a bowl of fresh fruit while Nick catches him up on his family—his parents are doing well and Liv is set to come visit sometime in the next few months. 

"I'll be on tour already," Harry says, licking strawberry juice from his finger. "Tell her hi from me, yeah?"

"I will," Nick promises. "When do your mum and Robin arrive?"

"Wednesday morning," says Harry. "For my mum, anyway. Robin can't make it, he has to work so he can make sure to take time off for our LA holiday."

"That's a shame, though. He's a big guy, would be a lot of help with all the furniture moving."

"I know, I told him that. He sent me that flexing arm emoji and a text that said 'I have dong muscles'."

Nick offers a lopsided grin into his teacup. "I love autocorrect."

As soon as Harry's finished eating, he stands up and strips off his pants. Nick blinks, and Harry lobs them at him. He locks his fingers behind his head and helicopters his dick in Nick's direction.

"This is the least seductive thing you've ever done," says Nick.

"Bite your tongue, I'm sexy as hell," Harry says, and slaps his own arse. "Ready for a swim?"

"Naked?"

"It's my pool, man."

"It's been ages since I've gone swimming in a pool naked. Like, months," says Nick. He stands up and strips off his pants too. Harry gives him a dimpled grin.

They race to the gym. Harry fights dirty, plucking at the hair on the back of Nick's thigh and shoving him out of the way in the hall. Nick shouts after him and tackles him straight into the deep end. They surface in a tangle of limbs. Harry's hair is all over his face and he's choking from giggling underwater. Nick has to pat his back while Harry gasps for breath and they both tread water. He whips his hair back off his face and water flies everywhere.

"You're such an idiot," Nick tells him. His hair is plastered down, ringlets stuck to his forehead. Harry lunges and dunks him before Nick can even look surprised. 

It's all out war after that. Nick drags Harry under by the ankles, and Harry grabs him before he can surface himself. They slap at each other under the water and Nick gets in an accidental but effective kick to Harry's stomach and emerges from the water, triumphant. When Harry tries to wreak vengeance, Nick pretends to have a cramp and starts drowning.

"Not funny, dude," Harry tells him, heart still racing even though he knew Nick was probably faking. He splashes him whilst Nick laughs his way through an apology, and plays grumpy when Nick pulls him into a hug.

"Aw, baby, don't be mad," Nick coos, wrapped around Harry from behind. Harry kicks him medium-hard in the nads with his heel in retaliation, and swims back to the shallow end while Nick holds himself and curses. "Uncalled for."

"Totally called for," Harry argues. He climbs out of the pool to turn on some music and grab a couple of inflatable floats. He chucks the red airbed to Nick and takes the green one for himself, and slips back into the water as the song changes from Murder By Death to Haim.

Nick's already sat astride his raft, the ends bent up on either side of him. Harry side saddles his and hooks their ankles together so they don't float away from each other. Nick yawns so wide that Harry can see his uvula, and then he smacks his tongue and rests his chin on the top of the raft in front of him.

"It has actually been like, four hundred years since I've seen you," says Nick. "How the hell are you?"

Harry laughs, pushing his hair back. "I'm fine. I sent you pictures!"

"I know," Nick sighs morosely. "So did Alexa and Pix. A million of them. You all looked so warm."

"You should've come out, shouldn't you have?"

Nick blows a raspberry. "Some of us have to work, popstar."

"I was working!" Harry argues. "Except for skiing I only had a few days off. John and I were holed up in a studio for most of the time."

"Right, right, keeping up with the Kardashians on the slopes and writing music with John Legend. Rough gig you've got."

"Oi! You text Kourtney Kardashian more than you text _me_ , and you're holed up in a studio with pop stars all the time!"

Nick's mouth pulls into a huge, gorgeous smile. "It's pretty cool, innit? Waking up every morning and going to do our dream jobs."

Harry grins right back. "Yeah, it's alright, I guess."

Nick waves a hand at him lazily. "I've never met the Jenner ones, though."

"Kendall's really great," says Harry. "It was nice of her to invite me. And let me bring Jeff. She's really sweet."

"She seems really funny," Nick says, swinging their legs a bit under the water. 

She is. She's funny and clever and they had a really good time, especially in Mammoth where they spent most of the week holed up in Kendall's suite, fooling around and watching shit telly. They get along well, and he knows that both their PR teams were hoping for romance to bloom, but he couldn't be further from Kendall's type beyond their physical attraction, so they'd had a lot more sex than conversation. 

"Yeah, she's a laugh. The whole trip was good. I'm starting to love LA."

"Of course you do," says Nick, his eyes closed like he's falling asleep. "You should invest in some property there."

"I did, actually," Harry says, and Nick's eyes snap open. He lets out a surprised laugh.

"Really?"

Harry makes a face. "Yes, really. Why would I make that up?"

Nick shakes his head in disbelief. "Well look at you, Hollywood! Did you buy the Iron Man house?"

"That house doesn't actually exist," Harry points out. "You can't build there. It's a historic site."

"You're ruining the illusion," says Nick. "What'd you get then? I want pictures. Have you decorated yet?"

Harry splashes him to get him to stop asking questions and Nick tugs him closer by their tangled legs so he can pinch Harry's thigh. Harry's still laughing even as he rubs at the skin where it smarts. "It's just a flat in Santa Monica. It was sort of an impulsive decision. The lads and I stayed there once when we were in the city for a few days and I really love it. It just went on the market whilst I was there. I closed on it like, literally the day before I left."

"I'm very offended," says Nick. "I have been intimately involved in all your property purchases thus far."

Harry pats Nick's hand. They've drifted back to the deep end and a song from The Muppets Take Manhattan is playing. "I had to move fast. Don't worry, nothing's been decorated at all. You're going to Coachella again this year, right?"

"Is there any other reason to go to California?" 

"Shut up. Maybe I can fly down for part of that week and we can hang around LA, yeah? When is it?"

"From April the eleventh until April the twentieth."

Harry's heart sinks a bit. "Oh, that's like, _right_ before tour starts." 

Nick pats his knee. "There, there. It's all right. I'll see your Barbie Dream Castle some other time."

"Malibu Barbie Dream Castle," says Harry. "I've even got the bikini."

"I know," Nick says, fussing with his hair. "I bought it for you."

They don't stay in the pool too much longer. Puppy trots into the gym with her favourite Spongebob Squarepants squeaky toy in her mouth and anyway, their fingers are starting to wrinkle. Harry leaves Nick to his dog and goes upstairs to put some clothes on, and when he's done Nick takes a turn and Harry wanders down to the living room and collapses onto the sofa.

It's an incredibly lazy day. They lie around and watch a biography of Bill Cosby, four episodes of An Idiot Abroad, and then go sit outside on the roof terrace for a while with Puppy and just chat. They order in a pizza for a very late dinner at around ten, and eat it in the living room, watching America's Sweethearts on one of the film channels waiting for Jonathan Ross to come on.

"This film is pretty funny," says Harry through his teeth, sitting on the sofa with Nick on the floor in front of him. He's got several small hairbands on the arm of the sofa next to him and one in his mouth while he combs Nick's hair into a teeny ponytail right on top of his head.

"Good story," says Nick. He's got a bottle of ruby red nail varnish out and is carefully painting his first two fingers. "Like Carson Daly."

"Who?" asks Harry.

"Oh shut up," says Nick. Harry grins and twists Nick's hair a little, swaps the hairband in his mouth for the comb in his hand and ties the ponytail off. It's a bit to one side, so he picks up the comb again to do pigtails.

"This would be so much easier if your hair wasn't all, like, chlorined."

"Chlorined?" Nick asks, amused.

"You know what I mean. _Chlorinated_. Stiff from pool chemicals." He tugs at Nick's hair gently. "You'd think it'd be used to chemicals by now."

"Oi," Nick protests, laughing. He caps his nail varnish as Harry ties off his second ponytail. "Not all of us can tie a scarf into our unwashed mane and get away with it."

"It's not unwashed!" says Harry, hands flying to his own hair, which is just as stiff and straw-feeling as Nick's. "I wash it every day."

Nick gives him a _look_ and Harry kicks at him. "Fine, like, every six days, whatever."

"Every six months, maybe."

Harry sticks his tongue out at him, and then hunches over to drape his arms around Nick's shoulders and nuzzles into his neck. "How about we have a shower before bed, hm? You can wash it for me."

"I've just painted my nails," Nick points out, but he tilts his head to the side to bare more of his neck, and Harry presses a series of kisses down to his shoulder. "I find the idea of washing you oddly appealing, though."

Harry laughs into the back of Nick's neck. "We'll watch Jonathan Ross and then go."

He sits up to sprawl back into his fantastic new sofa again, and after a few minutes Nick picks himself up off the floor, pigtails shaking a bit with the movement, and drops down next to him. Puppy snuffles and clambers over Harry's lap to get to her person. Nick ducks his head so she can lick his face and then scoots closer. Harry loves a good cuddle, and Nick is warm and familiar and one of Harry's very favourite people. He snugs Nick into his side and Nick comes with a laugh, sliding underneath the arm Harry wraps around him.

Abbey Clancey is on Jonathan Ross. She's dancing, naturally.

"Did you watch Strictly Come Dancing last year?" Harry asks. He didn't see it, but Gemma and his mum liked it.

"I never watch reality television, Styles," says Nick. He cackles when Harry punches him lightly in the arm. "All reality TV stars are cads with tiny willies. Especially the ones off The X Factor."

Harry shoves Nick's t-shirt up and presses his cold hand right against Nick's belly and Nick laughs harder, trying to weasel away. "Especially the ones with curly hair and dimples!"

"You love my curly hair and dimples!" Harry shouts. Puppy starts to bark excitedly, jumping from the sofa to the floor and onto the sofa again as Harry and Nick smack at each other. Harry ends up in a headlock, but since they're sitting his face is right by Nick's hipbone and Harry licks it. "You loved me on The X Factor. You wanted to meet me since judges' houses."

"Liar," Nick says, and he tries to ruffle Harry's hair with his palm but it's so stiff that it hardly moves. That sets Nick off laughing again, which sets Harry off, and they end up slumped in opposite directions on the sofa, trying to catch their breath and smiling stupidly at each other. Nick gestures to him. "You really do need your hair washed."

"Your pigtails are all fucked up now," Harry tells him. One of them is almost loose.

"Don't sound so upset, it's only pigtails."

Harry kicks him a bit, yawning. He shouldn't be tired. They've done absolutely nothing today but swim and eat and snog and cuddle. It's been quite marvellous, really. Nick loops his forefinger and thumb around Harry's ankle. Harry grins at him. "Your fingernails dry yet?"

Nick hums thoughtfully and rubs over one of them. "Suppose," he says. "Shall we?"

They let Puppy out one more time and make sure that she's comfortable in her bed, and then turn off all the lights and lock the doors and trudge upstairs. Harry steers them straight into his bathroom and starts up the shower. Nick's already got his shirt off and his pigtails out when Harry turns back around. He tugs Harry in by the front of his t-shirt and their lips meet as steam starts to fill the room. Harry pops the button of Nick's jeans and tugs the zip down, and Nick breaks the kiss to pull Harry's shirt up. Harry raises his arms so Nick can tug it up over his head.

They shimmy out of their own jeans and underwear. Harry feels goosebumps raise over his skin and his nipples harden in the chill. Nick says, "Shit, it's cold," and herds him into the shower.

The water is too hot but the relief from the chill feels good. Nick groans out loud and lets his head drop so the water beats into the back of his shoulders. Harry snorts and reaches for a neatly-folded flannel in the cubby on the side and his body wash. Nick's tilted his head back to wet his hair now, and his eyes are rolled up into his head, his dick is half-hard.

"Are you getting off from my shower head?" Harry asks him.

"Absolutely," Nick says, voice thick. Harry shakes his head and pulls him out from under the spray and Nick laughs and shakes his hair like a dog. He breathes in deeply and eyes the soapy flannel in Harry's hand. "That stuff smells good."

"I know," says Harry. He catches Nick's mouth in a quick kiss, and then takes his time scrubbing Nick down. Nick's a good sport. He lifts his arms when Harry tells him so Harry can wash his pits and down his sides, and turns when he's told so Harry can get his back. Harry puts his hands into it, makes it a massage as much as he can so Nick has to brace himself on the stone wall. He drops to his knees to scrub Nick's legs and arse, dipping the flannel into the cleft so Nick shivers, and then all along his cock.

"Being very thorough," Nick mumbles. Harry gives him a winning smile and gets to his feet.

"I'm a good worker," Harry agrees. He pushes Nick back under the spray to rinse off, and rinses out the flannel too. Nick looks so hot with water sluicing down his body. Harry's been friends with him for years now, and he's still waiting for a time when he'll be able to be around Nick without wanting him.

"Give that here." Nick plucks the flannel out of Harry's hand and soaps it up again. He has wonderful hands; Harry all but melts beneath them.

"We've got so domestic," he says, leaning against the wall as Nick washes his back. He breathes in the steam and lets it all out in a deep, content sigh.

"You did wear an apron," Nick says, digging his thumbs perfectly into the small of Harry's back.

"I have four of them."

"Of course you do."

Harry grins into his hands, and turns around when Nick tells him to. He keeps his eyes closed, presses his lips together when Nick thumbs over his nipples through the flannel. "You're awfully quiet."

Nick huffs a laugh. "I'm just thinking."

"Mm. Dangerous business."

"Quite," Nick agrees. He kneels down to get Harry's legs and Harry parts them helpfully. "How long are you and your parents staying in LA?"

"They're staying for a week. I don't know how long I'll be there. Not really got a plan. Maybe the rest of winter, it's been so miserable here."

"Off to your winter home!" Nick says dramatically. "Must suck, being a popstar."

"Yeah, it's the worst."

Nick finishes with Harry, who's left half-hard and tingling from the attention, and they take turns washing each other's hair. It takes ages, because they can't seem to keep their lips to themselves, and even once all the shampoo and conditioner is rinsed out they stand there under the spray, pressed close together, licking into each other's mouths.

"I like it when you're home," Nick murmurs, his lips right at Harry's ear. Harry digs his fingers into Nick's back, pulls him closer. Nick mouths down Harry's neck to his shoulder and sucks a bruise there and it gets Harry so hard that his head is spinning. Nick can just take him to his knees, and so easily.

"Gonna fuck me?" Harry asks him. He's already breathless. Nick presses his thigh between his legs and Harry whimpers, flushes bright red with embarrassment and opens his mouth when Nick kisses him again.

"Yeah," Nick murmurs against his lips. "Yeah, gonna fuck you."

Harry fumbles for the knob to turn the water off. The fan is still on, and the glass door is all steamed up. Nick's hands slide down Harry's back to his bum and squeeze, pulling his arsecheeks apart and dipping his thumbs into the cleft. His kiss is so hot.

They stumble out of the shower, unwilling to break too far away from each other. Harry leaves a string of love bites down Nick's neck and Nick snubs two wet fingers against his rim, slippery and uncoordinated. Harry whines, sinking his teeth into the juncture of Nick's neck and shoulder.

"Towels," Harry pants, walking Nick backwards. He presses Nick into the wall against the towel bar and drops to his knees. Nick's cock looks huge and wet and hard, curved upward, the head peeking out. Harry's mouth waters, his whole body feeling lit up. He rests his hands on Nick's hips and presses a kiss to the tip.

"Shit," Nick swears, threading the fingers of both hands into Harry's hair. Harry blinks up at him through the water on his eyelashes. He laves his tongue all along the crown, kisses down the full length and traces the big vein on the underside back up. He's trembling, teasing himself just as much as he's teasing Nick. By the time he opens his mouth up and takes Nick in properly, they're both short of breath.

Harry's mouth feels hot, and full, his lips stretching out as he sinks down. Nick tastes like clean skin and salt from precome and his fingers don't get tight in Harry's hair. He cups Harry's cheek where he can feel himself and Harry moans weakly, voice caught in his throat.

"Fuck, fuck, Haz, you're so fucking gorgeous, just look at you," Nick breathes. He strokes Harry's cheek and along his jaw, and Harry relaxes his throat and takes him in as deep as he can, feeling himself flush all the way down his chest at the pleased, hot sound Nick's makes. Over a year ago, before he and Nick properly hooked up and all Harry wanted was to be good enough, he practiced on a ridiculous purple dildo until he could do it without gagging, until he could take it all the way back. Nick wouldn't have cared if Harry'd been inexperienced, but it had felt really good to surprise him, to make him feel that unexpectedly good.

Nick strokes Harry's wet hair and Harry skids a hand down between Nick's legs to cup his balls. Nick rocks forward, just a little, and Harry swallows around him and then pulls back, all the way off, just to catch his breath, and then takes him right back in again. Nick's quiet, so turned on, blurting precome into Harry's mouth.

"God, Pup. Harry, you're so—fuck," he growls, and it makes Harry's cock throb. "Touch yourself," Nick says. "Let me see."

Harry gets a hand around himself so fast it makes Nick laugh, and he makes both of them come just like that. It hits him first, because he's so turned on, stripping his dick so fast and it comes suddenly and unexpected. He spills hot and messy all over his hand and Nick gasps, tugs on Harry's hair and shoots off not seconds later.

Harry swallows it all down, keeps his mouth halfway there, milking Nick's balls until Nick pulls him off.Harry's throat is sore and his lips are swollen. He climbs back up Nick's body and Nick cups his face in both hands and kisses him, licks the taste of himself out of Harry's mouth.

"God," Harry pants, weak-kneed. Nick lets out a laugh and rubs his back. They're still dripping wet. Harry washes his hands and they towel each other off, which takes forever because they still can't bear to be more than a few inches apart. They snog through the whole of it, working each other up again, and when they're finally dry enough they let their towels drop and wrap all around each other again.

"Bed," Nick says, mouthing at the hinge of Harry's jaw, his hands feeling huge on Harry's back and the back of his thigh. "Want you. Want inside you."

"God, yes," Harry agrees stupidly.

They make it there slowly, pausing to kiss each other senseless a few times on the way, until Harry's knees hit the side of the bed. Nick pushes Harry's hair back and waits for Harry to scramble onto the mattress properly before climbing on after him. Harry reaches for him, tangles his hands in Nick's hair and lies back when Nick eases him down. Their lips meet once, and twice, and Harry touches his tongue to the seam of Nick's mouth and presses it inside when Nick's lips part. Nick runs his fingers down Harry's side to his knee, back up to stroke the sensitive skin under Harry's arm. Harry jerks a bit, ticklish, but Nick doesn't let the kiss break and he rubs his fingers there again and again, until it stops making Harry flinch and instead has heat throbbing through him until he feels like he's on fire. His head falls back and he pants for breath, and Nick kisses down his jaw and his neck, licks at the hollow of his throat and then trails down to latch his mouth onto one of Harry's nipples.

Harry holds him there with a hand on the back of his head, his heart pounding.

Nick's hands push into the soft parts at Harry's hips and his teeth pull at Harry's hard nipple. Blood is rushing in Harry's ears and he feels like he's going to come out of his skin with how aroused he is. He flails one arm out to the bedside table and Nick's mouth smears over to his flank.

"Nick," Harry pants, spreading his legs wider. "J-Jesus!"

Nick lifts his head and Harry pulls him down into a wet kiss as he fumbles around in the drawer for a condom and the bottle of lube they opened last night. Nick lifts a hand to Harry's face and cups his cheek. He kisses Harry so tenderly that Harry's eyes are wet from how good it feels, and he's almost embarrassed by the attention. The hot line of Nick's dick presses along his thigh and he wants it so badly that his whole body clenches up.

"Nick, fuck, please, I can't—I need you in me," Harry begs.

Nick growls and loops his hand around Harry's wrist, rutting against him in slow rolls of his hips so their cocks slide together on Harry's belly. Harry always gets so wet and drippy, and it's slippery between them, the friction so good Harry's mind is reeling.

"Me too," Nick breathes. He sounds fucking desperate and it's unbelievably hot. "Fuck, me too. All the bloody time. Can't even fucking _think_ —"

Harry kisses him again. They're sweating and he can feel Nick's heart pounding when he presses his palm to Nick's chest. He reaches between them and gets his hand around Nick's thick cock, pumping him a few times. Nick breaks the kiss with a ragged inhale when Harry presses the pads of two fingers to the underside, right at the base. Harry tears the condom wrapper open with his teeth.

"Let me," he says, his voice so thick it's hard to get the words out. Nick nods and lifts his hips up more, braced with his elbows on either side of Harry's head so Harry can roll the condom down over the length of him. He snags the lube after and pours some into his palm, too much. He's so hard he feels like he's going to burst. "Don't need your fingers, just fuck me."

"Haz," Nick pants.

" _Please._ "

Nick's cheeks are flushed, his freckles standing out, hair drying in a messy nest of curls that's already dampening again with sweat. He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth when Harry touches him again, slicks him up. There's so much that it's a mess and he wipes his hand unceremoniously on the duvet when he's done. Nick thumbs over the hollow of Harry's hip and Harry lies back, grabbing at Nick's shoulder and hip. Nick's eyes are near-black, his lips red and swollen. He rests his hand low on Harry's abdomen.

"Knees up, sweetheart," he says, voice rough and husky and it goes straight to Harry's cock. He lets his head fall back and palms himself to relieve the pressure, lube mixing with the precome on his dick. He bends his knees and opens his thighs, curls his toes into the bed and lifts his hips, offering himself up shamelessly.

Nick touches his fingertips to the lube on his dick and eases his hand between Harry's legs. Harry's still tender from last night, gasps when Nick's wet fingers press into his rim. His abs contract and he clenches tight around nothing. " _Nick_ ," he moans, "God, please—just give it to me."

Nick kisses him quiet, licks into Harry's mouth, and Harry closes his eyes. He whimpers when Nick's fingers disappear, but a few seconds later the slick, blunt head of Nick's cock is snubbing up against his hole and he mewls into Nick's mouth, trying to push himself down onto it.

"Slow," Nick tells him. His voice is shaking. Harry's going to lose it just like this. Nick touches his lips to the corner of Harry's mouth. "Wanna go slow."

Harry nods jerkily, clutching at Nick's shoulders. "Want it to last? You with the stamina of three goats?"

"Lions," says Nick, and he pushes until the head breaches and the stretch and burn is so good Harry wants to curl up and die. Nick's breath hitches in his throat. "Three lions. Like the football shirt. Get it right, Styles."

"Whatever," Harry laughs breathily. "God, you feel—"

"Shh," Nick says, and he snares Harry's mouth with his own and eases in.

It's so hot, and it feels so good, Nick sinking all the way in with just one, long push that Harry opens right up to. It burns, splits him open, and Nick fills him up so fucking well. Harry breaks the kiss to breathe, eyes closed, forehead against Nick's shoulder and Nick kisses his temple and his sweaty, still-wet hair. He strokes his hand up Harry's side and down his arm, threads their fingers together so their palms touch and presses Harry's hand into the pillow next to his head. Harry wraps one of his legs around Nick's waist, digs his heel into the back of his thigh.

"Fuck," Harry gasps. "Fuck, fuck, you feel so fucking good, Nick, _God_."

"You too," Nick grits out. He nudges at Harry's cheek with his nose until Harry rests his head back down and Nick can kiss him again. "Shit, you're so…"

He shakes his head, mouth pulled into a little quirky smile, and Harry wants to tell him something insane, like that he loves him or he can't live without him or that he's Harry's best friend.

When he starts to move, it's so slow, everything about it is so slow and thorough, acutely intense. Harry can't even get words out, fills his mouth up with Nick's tongue or his bottom lip, groaning embarrassingly when Nick hits just right and he feels like he's going to fall apart. He squeezes Nick's hand and digs his fingers into Nick's back, feeling the shift of muscle as Nick moves. Every time Nick pulls back the emptiness makes Harry want to fucking _cry_ and every time he dicks back in so deep, the relief is overwhelming.

Harry comes between one breath and the next, cock untouched. It's sudden and hot, ripped out of him with a dry sob against Nick's neck. He spills hot between them, feeling his arse clench down tight around Nick buried inside.

"Nick," he slurs, threading his fingers into Nick's hair. "Nick."

Nick squeezes his hand and tucks his face into Harry's neck, shoulder blades standing out like a cat's as he fucks in hard and slow. Harry's oversensitive, and that good feeling is still throbbing through him. Nick shoots off with a choked sound muffled into Harry's skin, body seizing up with it, hips ratcheting in fast a couple of times before he goes still and lets it wash over him.

They stay like that for a bit, catching their breath, and when Nick lifts his head he's red-faced and his eyes are heavy-lidded, and he's so lovely that Harry has to kiss him again, quiet and chaste. It's been such a good night, intimate. Harry feels boneless in the aftermath.

Nick pulls out with a grimace after a few minutes and Harry makes a face. He flops back onto the bed in a loose sprawl and watches Nick take care of the condom. Nick's body is all long and knobbly and good, flushed and sweaty. Harry sits up and kisses his shoulder, grazes his fingers over Nick's ribs until Nick laughs a bit. He looks tired and sated, and he's so quiet, has been all day, really. Harry strokes his hair, presses a kiss to his temple and grudgingly gets up to retrieve a wet flannel.

Nick is all spread out when he gets back. He hums quietly as Harry wipes him down, and watches Harry clean himself off too. It's starting to get cold with their sweat cooling. Harry drops the flannel off the side of the bed and pulls the duvet up over them. Nick is never much of a cuddler after sex, but he spoons up behind Harry anyway because he knows Harry likes it. Harry pats his hand in appreciation, yawning. Nick's knees tuck into the backs of his own.

"That was really good," Harry murmurs. He sounds like a drunk idiot but he doesn't care. He feels fucking great.

Nick snorts and kisses the back of his neck. "Go to sleep, Harriet."

 

 

When Harry wakes up Sunday morning, Nick is sitting on the end of the bed in jeans and a t-shirt with his head in his hands. Harry sits up. They didn't fall asleep with music on; the sound of the sheets and duvet falling down to his waist seems very loud. Dread wells up in his stomach. It's only half seven, the sun hardly risen.

"Nick?"

Nick looks up and around to see him. His eyes are a bit puffy, his face pale. His hair is all sticky-up on one side. He clears his throat and offers Harry a smile that's anything but reassuring. "Hiya, Pup."

Harry frowns. "How long've you been awake?"

"Didn't sleep much, really," Nick answers, scratching at the side of his neck. His other hand is clenched on his thigh.

"Oh," says Harry. He has a hundred questions but he's wary to ask. They had such a good time yesterday. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," Nick says, nodding a bit too long to be anything but uncomfortable. "Yeah, fine. Puppy's outside."

"That's, um, good?"

"Yeah, definitely. Definitely good." 

This is the most awkward Harry has ever felt around Nick before. His throat is already tightening up. "Is she okay?"

"Oh, yeah, 'course. I just. I thought that after she comes back inside we might. I might take her home."

"Like, to your house?"

"Yeah, back to mine."

Harry tilts his head and folds his hands into his lap. "You, like. I thought you were going to stay here for the weekend? I can drive you into the studio tomorrow. Remember?"

Nick lets out a little laugh, and the fond look Harry's used to seeing on his face is weird this time. "Yeah, Haz, I remember."

Harry frowns and rubs a hand over his face. "Don't do that."

"What?" Nick asks, pulling his legs up underneath himself so he can face Harry properly.

"Don't like, talk down to me like that, like you're not being really fucking weird right now. I'm not a kid, or an idiot."

"I know," Nick says. He laughs again but it sounds like he hurts, and he rakes his fingers through his hair with more violence than Harry's ever seen him turn toward it before. "God, I know. I'm not talking down to you, I promise. I'm just, trying really hard not to have this conversation."

Harry's knees hurt, and his thighs are sore from riding Nick last night. "What's going on? Did something happen? Do you need me to look after Puppy or anything?" It sounds pathetic out loud, the way he's grasping at straws, and Nick just looks tired and sad and Harry feels young and stupid in a way he almost never does. "Or do you just. Want to go home? House too haunted for your tastes?"

Nick smiles. "The house is great."

"But you want to leave."

"I've just been thinking for a bit that we should probably, like, stop."

"Stop," Harry deadpans.

"With us," Nick says. "With this."

"Stop with us," Harry repeats.

"Christ I'm shit at this," Nick grumbles, tugging on his hair again. Harry's jaw clenches, his eyes stinging and his throat aching again. It hurts in his chest and the expression on Nick's face is wretched. 

"Shit at what?" Harry says. It comes out very bland, though he feels anything but calm. Nick scratches his head, looking glum, and Harry lets out a somewhat hysterical laugh. "God, Nick, I'm like. I'm trying not to feel rejected here."

"You're not," Nick insists, alarmingly loud. Harry blinks at him and Nick smiles painfully into his hand, scrubbing at his face with an irritated growl. "You're not being rejected. It's not like that. Please don't think that."

"What would you call it?" Harry asks, desperate. He's clenching his lapful of sheets in his hands. 

"It's being—just mates. Best mates."

"You've been thinking about this for a long time?"

"A few weeks, maybe," Nick says, voice hoarse.

"Then what the hell was yesterday?" Harry demands. He hates how hurt he sounds. "Why'd you even—Why didn't you say anything? Why did you let...God, last night was fucking _amazing_ , you arsehole."

"It was," Nick agrees. He's gripping his own ankle tightly enough that his knuckles are white. "Fuck, last night was incredible."

"Why didn't you say anything Friday night? What even was this weekend? One last hurrah?"

"No, Jesus, Harry," Nick says, looking hurt. "I wouldn't do that to you. I hadn't made up my mind, all right? I didn't know what to do. I wanted to be with you again. This weekend was a really fucking valiant attempt to pretend that this is working. And then I walk in the bloody door and you..."

He trails off and Harry makes an impatient noise, furious that Nick's turning this around on him. "What did I—I didn't do anything!"

"You told me I make you feel like static!" Nick shouts. Harry gapes like a fish. Nick waves his hands in the air jerkily, like that might translate to something. "You can't just say shit like that!"

"What're you _talking_ about?"

"This," he gestures between them, at the sheets and the condom wrappers on the floor. "This is fucking, like. I'm fucking _dying_. here You can't say shit like that, and buy my dog a bed and water bowl so she'll be comfortable here, and invite me over to cook me dinner on your first night in your new house, and be all gorgeous and funny and lovely and expect me— _anyone_ , but especially me—not to fall really, like, really fucking in love with you."

Harry's heart simultaneously sinks and swells up too big to fit in his belly where it's heading. "I love you too," he says, shaking his head. "God, Nick, of course I love you."

"I know," Nick murmurs. He looks so sad, and tired. "I know. Just."

"I'm. I've always been mad for you," Harry tells him.

"I know," Nick says again. "I really do. But when I sit back and think about what I want with you it's not just a weekend, or a week. I want to be with you all the time, and when I can't be I can't stop thinking about you. When you're on tour I want. Fuck, I want, like. I want love, y'know? That, that can't sleep, can't eat because we're too fucking obsessed with each other love."

"I think about you all the time, though," Harry tells him. "When I'm away. I always miss you." But even as he says it his sunburn smarts, and he vividly remembers hopping on a plane straight from LA to Jamaica. London hadn't even really crossed his mind.

""I want a boyfriend, Haz. I want--God, the things I want with you. I want a life here. I want like," he sighs. "I want a home."

Harry opens his mouth but he doesn't have anything to say. He's twenty. He's gone for eight months out of the year. He loves people, and he loves falling in love with people even if it's only for a moment, or a night, or a couple weeks. He loves what freedom he has and he loves being a celebrity, loves the sex and seeing the world and finding a niche in every country he visits. And Nick scares the shit out of him. He always has. 

"I'm. Nick, I."

"I love getting off you with you, and fucking you, and having you like, intimately like that. But lately it's just reminding me of all the rest I don't have, y'know?"

Harry shakes his head slowly. He doesn't know what to say.

Nick can't even look at him. "I'm sorry."

Harry's crying, has to sniffle hard and rub at his eyes. His throat is throbbing. He can't say anything to make this better and be honest. "I'm. You've got to know that I'm, like. I'm giving you everything that I can. You have...You have all of me that I know how to..." 

But it's not enough. He's not ready to have a home yet.

"I know," Nick murmurs. He rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Fuck."

Puppy barks very loudly and very suddenly at the door to the garden downstairs. It makes them both jump. Harry's face is damp. He forces a wet laugh. "Only we could end up here, y'know? Both feeling rejected."

"Hey," Nick says, smile a little more genuine now. "Bright side, innit? We're still pretty special, you and me."

Harry takes in a deep, embarrassingly shuddery breath. "That won't change, right?"

"No way," Nick says. He leans in close and kisses Harry's temple, and Harry hugs him so hard it hurts for a long time. 

"You're my best mate," Harry whispers.

"We'll always be best mates. You can't get rid of me that easily, Styles." Harry's laugh sounds like a sob. Puppy's still barking her head off downstairs. Nick's shirt is snotty and wet when they pull apart. "I'm, um. I'm gonna get going. Your mum and Gem'll be here tomorrow, yeah?"

Harry nods. "Yeah."

He gets out of bed, pulls on his bathrobe, and walks Nick downstairs. Nick must've been awake for a long time, because his rucksack is packed up and his and Puppy's things are by the front door. She runs straight at Harry when she comes inside. He picks her up and hugs her. God, it feels like he's losing a lot. Once Nick attaches her lead to her collar Harry sets her down. Nick looks as wrecked as Harry feels.

"I'll see you in a few days," Nick says, leaning in to kiss Harry's cheek. His lips are too dry. Harry wants to scream.

"A few days," he agrees. He opens the door and Nick walks out, shouldering his bag. Harry leans against the doorframe and clears his throat. "Hey, be good, huh?"

Nick snorts. "Yeah, yeah. You too."

Harry can't watch him go, so he closes the door when Nick turns away again. He listens to his car start, listens to him drive off. He takes a deep breath and rubs his eyes, and then goes upstairs to shower and find his phone. His house feels huge and raw, like an open wound.

He's sure that Ben will let him stay in his attic just one more night.


	2. Chapter 2

**ii.**

Nick's shower is a lot smaller than Harry's, and the water pressure isn't as good. He stands under the spray until it's gone cold. When he gets out he can hear a Spice Girls song from the speakers in the living room and Collette talking to someone on the phone. He pulls on pants and a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt, and takes a long, deep breath and pastes a smile on his face. He dances his way down the hall, singing along with _Wannabe_ , to find Collette perched on the arm of his sofa, ear to her mobile. She looks him up and down and raises a curious eyebrow. He grabs his dick and she lobs a cushion at him.

"All right, we'll see you later," she says, and hangs up.

"Plans tonight?" Nick asks her, wandering into the kitchen to do himself a cup of tea. It's only half eleven but there's a strong possibility he's going to add a bit of vodka. Collette follows him.

"Yes," she says. "Going to a concert with a couple of friends. Prince, in fact."

Nick's heart drops and he stops short, turning to look at her. "That's tomorrow."

Collette stares at him. "No, love, it's tonight. The ninth, remember?"

"The ninth is tomorrow!" Nick says, but he rushes back through the living room and down the hall to his bedroom to find the tickets. They're sitting on top of his bedside table and the date on them is definitely _Sunday, 9 February 2014_.

"I've texted you like a million times. Billy said he tried to call. Did you really think it was tomorrow?" Collette asks, taking a seat on his bed. "I was wondering why you were dressed like that. We're going to see the babies this afternoon, remember?"

Nick lets out a semi hysterical laugh, shaking his head. "I totally forgot."

"Forgetting your godson," Collette tuts. And then, even more dramatically, "Forgetting _Prince_."

"It's been a strange couple of days," Nick says. Strange isn't a good word for it. Amazing would be a good one. Devastating would be too. Collette makes a ridiculous face at him and he bursts out laughing. "God, I've got to get dressed properly now."

"The things we do for love," she says, delicately fingering the tickets he hands her. It cuts into the buzz of excitement under his skin.

As far as defence mechanisms go, Nick tends to stick with a tried and true comedic approach. He makes a point to laugh at himself before anyone else can laugh at him. He turns every insecurity and unhappy experience he's ever had into a joke, and nothing hides sadness better than exaggerating it to the point of ridiculousness. And when all else fails, he compartmentalises like a bloody champ. He pushes all thoughts of Harry right the hell away, and gets dressed for fucking _Prince._

He takes a long time choosing an outfit, so long that Collette has had a cup of tea and watched the full first half of the Eastenders omnibus on Nick's Sky+. 

"Are you ready, finally?" he asks, pulling on his coat as he walks into the living room. "Mairead is expecting us."

Collette gives him a dirty look. She just doesn't appreciate how brilliant and hilarious he really is.

They get a cab to Mairead's, and Nick demands to see the baby as soon as Mairead lets them through the door. "Where's my beautiful godson?"

Mairead looks great, and has a suspiciously stained flannel over her shoulder. She laughs and kisses his cheek.

"I was just on my way to get him from his cot."

"Can I?" Nick asks, and after she agrees he hands her the funky-patterned baby ring sling he bought for her last week. "This is for you. I read about them. Apparently they're amazing."

"You're so sweet! I love it," Mairead says, and hugs him. "You remember where his room is, yeah? And I should warn you there might be a smell. I've been elbows deep in shit for weeks. He can't go twenty minutes without pooing."

"Just like his father," says Nick with a sigh. Mairead and Collette laugh and duck into the kitchen whilst Nick heads through the living room to the hallway and into his godson's room.

He's momentarily blinded by how cluttered it is. Just last week there was a perfectly sensible amount of baby things in this nursery, and now every possibly surface and most of the floor is covered with an entire menagerie of soft toys, books he won't enjoy having read to him for months and giant, brightly-coloured plastic baby toys. There's a strange bright green foam thing that's box claims it will allow an infant to sit up and enjoy its surroundings, a box full of big plastic race cars, what must be London's entire supply of nappies and baby wipes and one of those stationary baby holder things that they can bounce in. The wardrobe is stuffed full of clothes and tiny adorable baby shoes and, of course, at least six other ring slings. Apparently some other people read about them too.

Arlo is awake and babbling happily in his bed. He's swaddled in a rose coloured blanket and as predicted, smells disgusting. When he sees Nick his face lights up in a smile.

"Hey there, baby," Nick says, reaching down to untuck the edges of the blanket. As soon as Arlo's arms are free he grips Nick's finger. The emotion that swells up in him hits like a sucker punch.

He gave away a lot to Harry that he didn't mean to this morning, but he supposes it points to his restraint that he didn't shake him by the shoulders and shout, _I want to have babies with you!_ directly into his face.

He wants Harry, and it would be really nice if Harry wanted him too.

"What am I gonna do, Arlo?" he whispers, picking the baby up. Arlo clumsily slaps Nick's face and burps in his ear.

It's not the most helpful advice.

 

 

Falling into bed with Billy after the concert is good. Billy's so hot, and clever with his body, and eager to please, and Nick's ego's feeling bruised enough that he rather enjoys basking in it. Nick fucks him twice, and after the second time he pulls out, gets rid of the condom, and flips Billy onto his back. Billy's so pretty, his hair mussed up and his skin flushed, come splattered on his toned belly and his legs spread wide, dick not quite fully soft yet. Nick takes him in his hand and Billy whines weakly, oversensitive.

"Think you can go one more time?" Nick asks. He's done for the night himself, but Billy is twenty-one, he can make it, and Nick is a little drunk and has this mad impulse to make him come again. He feels almost crazy with it.

"You're insane," Billy says, but he pushes up into Nick's hand and wets his lips, mouth quirked into a smile.

Nick kisses his wet mouth and down his jaw and neck. He plays with both Billy's nipples until they're red and puffy and he's half-hard in Nick's hand. Billy lets out a little cry when Nick takes him into his mouth. It's so hot to feel him stiffen up properly, fill Nick's mouth up. Nick cups his balls and thumbs over his hole, and Billy opens his thighs a bit more, acquiescent and turned on. Nick tucks two fingers back inside him, takes him deep into his throat, rubs at his prostate until Billy is writhing and gasping. Billy lets out a dry sob as he spills everything he's got left onto Nick's tongue.

Billy's boneless and panting after, looking all messy and debauched in Nick's bed. Nick crawls back up his body and swallows the little laugh Billy lets out. They share a few long, wet kisses before Nick drops down on his belly next to him, feeling calmer. Billy pats Nick's hair vaguely and Nick snorts a laugh.

"Not that I don't appreciate it," says Billy, voice a bit slurred, "but what was all that about?"

"I'm good with my mouth," Nick says. He flips onto his back and frowns at the duvet, which is pushed all the way to the end of the bed. He lifts one of his feet and attempts to grab it with his long freak toes, and pulls it close each to reach with his hand. Billy watches with a bit of disgust and also open admiration. Nick tugs the duvet over them properly and clears his throat. "You needed a demonstration."

"Can't argue with that." Billy turns onto his side. It's cloudy out, so there's not much moonlight filtering in through the shutters. Nick crosses his eyes at him but Billy doesn't notice. Nick feels wide awake. Billy's hand finds his hip and squeezes gently. "Thanks for tonight, by the way. Was amazing."

Nick smiles. He loves sharing some of the perks he receives, he loves experiencing his incredible life with his friends. Having Billy and Collette there was pivotal to his enjoyment of the show. "Course. Glad you could make it. You're so busy now and everythin'."

Billy lets out a breathy laugh and scrubs his nose against the pillow. "Seems easy to clear your schedule when a chance to see Prince arises."

"Doesn't it?"

"Besides, part of the reason I'm so busy is because of you," Billy points out.

Ages ago, a close mate who owns a club in Soho introduced Nick to this really cute, big-eyed kid with a nice smile, a lot of potential and big DJing aspirations. Billy had nearly shat himself when he first saw Nick, but they ended up chatting and drinking for a few hours after Billy's set at the club, and then got each other off in the toilets. They clicked well, the way Nick does with most people, and Nick saw a lot of himself in Billy. Nick was a young DJ in need of networking himself once, and it's always an honour to help others out, especially talented ones like Billy. The first several times Nick offered to introduce him around and get him setup on Twitter and use some of his clout to get his name circulating, Billy had refused. Nick only talked him into it in the last few months, after Billy was overlooked for a really good gig that was given to someone better known.

"So you were just doing me a favour, then, coming to see Prince with me?"

Billy says, "No, of course not," and then hums. "It would've been funnier if I'd said yes. Sorry. I'm very well-fucked."

"That is known to cause mental distortion," Nick says. He has to be up in a few hours. Billy laughs sleepily, curling up a bit under the duvet. He's asleep a few minutes later. Nick lies in a limbo between being asleep and being awake, his head still hazy from all the wine he'd drunk. His eyes are stinging and the ceiling is blurry. He had a really great night. He can't stop thinking about Harry.

 

 

Nick is wired for all of Monday, an unexpected and welcome side-effect of two nights with little to no sleep. The show is great, and meeting Prince Charles is very surreal (sadly, Kate Middleton and baby George did not tag along),and after work he and Fiona go shopping in Camden and Nick returns home with new boots, a funky antique table that he has nowhere to put in his flat and a bandana that he ties round Puppy's head so she looks like Rhoda. He gets sushi for dinner, spends an hour on the phone with Aimee telling her all about the Prince concert, goes to bed at eight-thirty and sleeps for nearly nine hours.

He wakes up disgruntled and groggy with his alarm and arrives at the studio in a very strange, if not bad, mood.

"I feel like I've had the worst morning," he tells Finchy and Ian and Fiona, coffee in hand. "But I haven't."

Ian lifts an eyebrow. "Nothing happened to put you in a mood?"

"No, I've just been trying to think of something. My shower was like, the perfect temperature, and I got out to my taxi on time, and I got here on time, and this coffee is actually fucking perfect."

"Then what're you whinging for?" Finchy asks.

"I've got no idea!" Nick says. "I just really want to shout about things and how everything has gone wrong but I can't, because nothing has. How am I supposed to hold a grudge against nothing? It's not fair."

"Sometimes, like right now," Fiona starts, "I have pinch myself and whoever's next to me to convince myself that you're a real person."

She pinches herself, and then Finchy, who wasn't listening. He yelps in surprise. "Hey!"

Fiona shakes her head and takes a sip of her own coffee, eying Nick seriously. "I'm still not convinced."

Finchy clears his throat loudly, the way he does when he wants everyone's attention. Nick, Fiona and Ian do it too. Finchy ignores them. "Let's go for lunch after the production meeting," he says.

"Oh, fun! BBC footing the bill?" Fiona asks.

"You're not invited," says Finchy.

Ian laughs and Fiona says, "Oi! Is this because I pinched you?"

"No," Finchy says, and then nods to Ian. "You're not invited either."

Ian looks unimpressed. "If you wanted to ask him out on a date you could be more romantic about it."

"This is as romantic as he gets," says Nick, at the same time Finchy says, "This is as romantic as I get."

Fiona and Ian laugh and Nick claps gleefully.

"Look at us, finishing each other's sentences!"

"We just said the same sentence," says Finchy, scowling.

"I'd love to go on a date with you," Nick tells him, and makes a smooching face.

It's not until after they've all taken their seats in studio that Nick realises agreeing to have lunch with Finchy was probably not a good idea. Because, whilst lying awake waiting to break his own heart at Harry's the other night, he may have texted Finchy a few times. Those texts might have been a bit cryptic. Poetic, really. Finchy is crafty, asking in front of other people.

The show goes off without a hitch. It's nice to be kept busy and work is never boring. By the time it's over, his mood has improved a bit and he's able to actually pay attention to and participate in the production meeting, which is mostly about the Valentine's call set to happen on Friday. After it's done Nick and Finchy walk over to Efes for lunch. They make small talk, discussing the colour Finchy and Lizzie are planning on painting the walls of their flat, and whether or not Nick should get the mysterious knot that's appeared on his shin checked out properly, until Nick has his lam shish in front of him and has taken his first bite. Then Finchy, who's gone for the chicken, levels him with a look.

"So," he says.

"Mm," says Nick, chewing slowly.

"I wanted to talk to you."

Nick swallows and reaches across the table to pat Finchy's hand. "You didn't need to buy me lunch for that, Fincham, you know I'm always here for you."

Finchy rolls his eyes. "I wanted to make sure that you're all right."

Nick does his best to look incredulous. "What? I'm fine. I'm great! I saw Prince Sunday night, did you know? I'm great."

"Really?" says Finchy. He makes a show of pulling his mobile from his jeans pocket. "Because the other afternoon I sent you a text that said 'Are you still looking for a chair for your living room?', and you replied at half three in the morning with 'a place to sit doesn't matter anymore. what's the point.'"

"That's a perfectly reasonable response."

"So then I texted 'Are you all right?' and you said, 'I don't want to go to Paris. I want to die.'"

"That's from _Sabrina_ ," Nick tells him. "You answered quite quickly, actually. What were _you_ doing at half three in the morning?"

"I was getting a glass of water!" says Finchy.

"A likely story."

Finchy makes a face at him. Nick takes another bite of his food and smiles serenely.

"Anyway," Finchy says. "It was a bit weird and depressing."

"Weren't you depressed to be unwillingly awake at half three in the morning?" Nick asks once he's swallowed.

Finchy goes on like Nick hasn't said anything. "And you were a bit wild yesterday, and in a bad mood this morning. You seem down. Did something happen?"

Finchy looks concerned and it makes Nick's insides squirm guiltily. In the past two years they've become quite good friends but he doesn't know about Harry. He suspects, like the rest of the bloody country, and the vast majority of Nick's other friends, but Nick has only told two people. Finchy's so obviously uncomfortable and it makes Nick's heart swell a bit.

"Just a rough night. I was really just messing with you, I didn't mean to make you worry."

"I wasn't _worried_ ," says Finchy, prodding at his shish. "Can't well keep a job producing the Radio 1 Breakfast Show if its host is plotting his own death by carbon monoxide poisoning, can I?"

"If you'd seen the movie you wouldn't have given it a second thought," says Nick. "Sabrina goes to Paris."

"Only 'cos Bogie saves her," Finchy says grudgingly. Nick laughs, and Finchy rolls his eyes. "Really, though. You're all right?"

"I'm totally all right," says Nick. That was the point, after all, to stop things before it got to the point where he wouldn't be all right. He was fashionably late. "Just had a bit of a tiff with a friend, but it'll work itself out."

Finchy gives him a long, searching look, chewing his food very slowly, until Nick bats his eyelashes. "Okay, well. If you need to talk, I'm sure Fiona won't mind."

Nick snorts. "Thanks for that."

"'Course," says Finchy, grinning. "But _are_ you still looking for a chair for your living room? My mum's got one you might like, she wanted me to ask."

"Absolutely. Send me pictures. How far have you got in Flappy Bird yet?"

"Forty-nine." Finchy makes a sad face at his phone.

"Fuck you, I want Flappy Bird," says Nick.

The rest of their lunch is much more relaxed, and afterward Nick takes the tube home. He has a picture from Mairead of Arlo strapped to her chest dead asleep in the ring sling Nick gave her, and a text off Billy asking if he wants to go out. He sends back a maybe. Within ten minutes of arriving at his flat, Daisy pops in to borrow a jacket for an 80s themed party she's going to, and they end up spending most of the afternoon together, taking Puppy for a long walk and getting coffee before she has to go off for a photo shoot. Nick walks Puppy back home and changes to go to the gym.

In a little over a month he'll be on a bike for twelve hours live for the world to see, so he's been doing his best to get at least an hour in at the gym every day. It's incredibly boring and he usually spends most of it texting while he pedals and listening to music, but he left his phone in his bag in the locker room and the girl on the machine next to him isn't feeling chatty.

It's an unanticipated stretch of idle time, something he's been successfully avoiding since Sunday morning, and despite his best efforts he can't keep Harry out of his head. It's always been like that. Harry just has one of those personalities. There's something just unforgettable about him, and Nick can't pinpoint when it was that it started to become a problem instead of a happy side effect, when it was that thinking about Harry became something bittersweet, and then just painful, like Nick was willfully ripping holes in his chest.

Ending the physical part of their relationship had been on Nick's mind for months. At times he was so solid on it, while Harry was away and they hadn't shared so much as a text in weeks or Harry was home and hadn't contacted him yet and Nick's feelings were hurt, but then he'd see him again or get a silly text from him or get himself off to a particularly fond memory of a roll in the sack with him and all his resolve dwindled. More often than not it wasn't a real option. Surely getting to fuck Harry was better than not. When he'd gone over Friday evening he hadn't had a single inclination to do anything but laugh and fuck around and ignore all the messy, inconvenient feelings he'd been struggling with.

But then he got there, and he saw him, and he talked to him and he tasted him, and God but Harry makes him _laugh_. He got there and Harry kissed him and he said, "You make me feel" and Nick's insides screamed _But not enough!_

He spent the rest of the weekend trying to move past it. He tried to not like him so much and he tried to not let it sting when Harry said he might spend the rest of his break in LA and he tried to pretend that the way he fucked Harry that night wasn't because he knew it was going to be the last time.

He did the right thing; in the long run this is going to save their friendship. The conversation really couldn't have gone any better than it did, realistically. Except even though Nick tried _so hard_ to stay rational, even though he _knew_ that it was going to end in a sad hug and tears, part of him had hoped right up until the very end that Harry would say "You're all I want, too." And it was so fucking unfair of him to even hope for it, let alone feel disappointed when it didn't happen. It's so fucking unfair that the only person he's ever fallen in love with is a twenty year old pop star with the whole world at his fingertips. The whole situation just sucks, and it hurts, and he doesn't feel any better for having made the right decision. He never had any right to have his heart broken by someone who didn't know he had it in the first place.

He's out of breath and soaked in sweat, pedaling like he's in a spin class instead of the leisurely pace he usually keeps up. His chest aches and his throat feels swollen. The moment he's back in the locker room, jelly-legged from exertion, he texts Billy. They meet up for drinks with a few of Billy's friends that Nick knows vaguely, and Nick drinks a bit too much.

It sets a sort of pattern for the rest of the week. He keeps himself as busy as possible, tweets and instagrams like mad, chats with all of his friends on the phone whenever there's an idle moment and goes out and has a good time. On Valentine's Day he spends the afternoon on Tumblr looking at fan pictures of Harry that've been taken through the week. Harry looks so good, and the picture of him and his mum and Gemma make Nick simultaneously want to cry and put his fist through a wall. Instead, he gets absolutely smashed, finds a pretty boy with dark curly hair and gets sucked off in the toilet of a club. He bites his lip so he doesn't say Harry's name when he comes so hard it nearly blinds him, and ends up home alone at four in the morning with his head in the toilet. He sleeps most of Saturday, and then takes Sara to dinner as his own private congratulations and sad goodbye before the big group lunch scheduled for Monday.

On Sunday, he spends the day with Rita and then goes to see Prince again at KOKO with her and Naomi. He gets home quite late, but sober, and is responding to Tina Dahely's teasing him on Twitter when he gets a text from Harry. _Can I ring you?_

Idiot. _Of course you can, idiot._

He picks up on the first ring. "Hey hiya," he says as brightly as he can manage. His throat is a bit raw from his enthusiastic cheering at the concert.

"Hey," says Harry. One word and Nick is smiling like an idiot. There's an awkward pause that wipes it right off his face though. Harry lets out a muffled cough and clears his throat. "Um. How are you?"

"I—" am sad, am hurting, miss you. "I'm all right, yeah. You? Did you get all your furniture? And your mum?"

Harry laughs. "Yeah, got both. Both are good. Robin arrived this evening and Gemma's been staying, so the whole family's here."

"That sounds like fun," says Nick.

"Yeah, it's been nice." He clears his throat again. "I've got that, uh, Burberry show in the morning, so I'm about to go to sleep, but Sara texted me earlier to see if I was going to be at lunch tomorrow."

"Oh, right, you'll be there, won't you?"

"Is that. Like, I mean, is that okay with you?"

Nick's breath catches in his throat and his lungs feel weighed down. He sits down on the foot of his bed where Puppy is sleeping and rubs his eyes. "Of course it is. Are ya jokin'?"

Harry laughs again, but it sounds forced. "I just wanted to make sure. I'm not sure what the, uh, rules are."

"There are no rules," Nick tells him. "We didn't break up, Hazza."

"I know. I mean we weren't really together and it shouldn't feel like a break up. But it, like. It sort of does. A lot, really," Harry says. "It's weird."

Nick shakes his head, hating how muddled everything is now. A week is hardly the longest they've gone without speaking. This shouldn't be so weird. "You're coming to lunch tomorrow, and then to mine, and then to Kate's."

"I just wanted to be sure," Harry says. His voice sounds a bit small. Nick wishes he could see him.

"Well, you're sure now."

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow," Nick agrees. "Get some sleep, popstar."

"Yeah, I will. You too."

Hanging up is weird. That conversation was weird. Nick falls backwards onto his bed and manfully resists the urge to scream into his pillow like a teenager.

 

 

Coxy's last day is wonderful and sad and fantastic, and the whole lot of them sweep her off to The London Edition for a late lunch. It's a load of Radio 1 DJs, producers and Aimee, so it's loud and there's a lot of wine. Harry arrives about thirty minutes late with a charming, apologetic smile, all dolled up from the Burberry show. He beams when everyone says hello, and makes his way with hugs and handshakes down the table until he reaches Sara, who he kisses on the cheek and hands a nicely wrapped parcel.

"For you," he says.

"Oh, love, you shouldn't have!"

"It's not much, believe me," says Harry. Whilst she unwraps it, Nick stands up as Harry sidles over, and Nick pulls him into a hug.

"You made it!" Nick says happily. "Love the coat."

Harry laughs, holding onto Nick tightly for a few seconds before pulling back. "It's good, isn't it?"

"It really brings out your eyes," says Greg.

"I know," says Harry, popping the collar of his coat. He's still standing close, and he smells so good. Sara let's out a sudden shriek of laughter.

"Oh God, it's perfect!"

"What is it?" Aimee asks at the other end of the table, leaning past Ian to see.

"The new fragrance by One Direction," Sara says, affecting a dramatic voice. " _That Moment!_ "

"That's not out for the public yet, you know," Harry tells her while everyone laughs. "Very top secret."

"Jesus, you look like Van Helsing. Look at Niall!"

"Looks like he got the soul sucked right out of him," Nick says, checking the box. It really is a horrible graphic. "Sorry Matty, it looks like your boy has been lost to us."

"Bollocks!" Finchy says. "I'll bring him back with True Love's Kiss."

"Oh my God," says Fiona. "It looks like a poster for the British version of Teen Wolf."

"We would make the best British version of Teen Wolf," says Harry. "I'm gonna ask if we can do that."

"The BBC will produce it," says Scott, laughing when Sara shows him the box.

"I'm going to put some on right away," she says. It smells cloyingly sweet, and she sprays some on Nick's wrist too. Harry leans in dutifully to sniff them both.

"I don't think it goes well with what you're already wearing," he tells Sara with a grimace, rubbing at his nose. "I think Nick wins."

"Well of course you do."

"Harry! Come here!" Chris calls from further down the table. "We know you and Grimmy are M-F-E-O but pry yourself away and come sit on my lap."

Nick chokes out a laugh and sits back down, out of the way, so Harry can walk by. He shrugs out of his coat on his way down the table and tosses it over the empty chair, then rounds the other side of the table and falls onto Chris, looping his arms around his neck and putting his feet in Fearne's lap as she laughs.

"How are you darling?" she asks him.

"I'm great, how are you?"

"I'm good. And sad. We're all very sad!"

"Why?"

Chris puts his hand on Harry's hip. "Because good ol' Coxy's leavin' us, of course."

"Oh, right," says Harry, scratching his chin and giving the table a smile to show off his dimples. "I forgot you aren't all here for me."

 _You're awful! I love you!_ Nick wants to shout at him. Naturally, Harry cannot read his mind, and if he could it wouldn't matter anyway. Nick's end of the table smells of green apple and Harry is laughing at something Chris is saying, big mouth wide open, head thrown back. Nick pours himself another glass of wine.

Their meal wraps up after a few hours, and Nick, Harry, Aimee and Ian share a cab to Nick's. It's the first time Aimee has seen Harry in months, so she spends most of the ride asking after him and catching up.

"I can't believe you're going to miss Coachella for the second year in a row," she says. "We were really hoping to use you to get swag and met Beck."

Harry laughs. "I don't know where you got the idea that I'm cool enough to get to Beck."

"You're probably right. Swag, though."

"Yeah, cheers," Harry says dryly, Ian and Nick laughing. "Good to know I'll be missed."

Aimee smiles and pats his hand. "You really will be, it's going to be a really good time. You must be sick of California by now though, aren't you?"

Nick turns his head to look out the window, fiddling with the hem of his jacket. He can see the shadow of Harry's profile next to him in the glass. Harry clears his throat and then coughs into a loose fist. "Not really, actually. You'd think I would be though. I'm actually leaving for LA with my parents day after tomorrow."

"There's probably always something to do in LA, though," Ian says reasonably. "Especially for a famous pop star."

Nick watches Harry's shadow shrug in the window. "Yeah, there's always stuff to do, but I've got a lot of friends there too and the weather is always really nice. And it's like, really good for my career right now, y'know? There's a lot of like, stuff there."

Ian laughs and Nick looks round to see Aimee looking at Harry fondly. "You're darling. _'Stuff'_. I don't know what we ever did without you."

The taxi pulls up outside Nick's house and Harry pays the fare before the rest of them can even get their wallets out. Nick knocks their shoulders together, smiling his thanks, and they lead the way downstairs to his flat. Puppy is thrilled to see them. She adores Ian, and jumps into his arms as soon as he's through the door. He cradles her against his chest like a baby.

"Are you two staying?" Nick asks him. Aimee's already made her way down the hall to his bedroom to find the top she's going to borrow. "D'you want tea?"

"No, we can't," says Ian. "We're going out with some friends in a couple of hours. What're you two up to tonight?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," says Nick. By the time he's got the kettle filled and switched on, Harry's pulled two mugs down from the cupboard and put teabags in them. Ian rolls his eyes and Harry grins.

"We're going to Kate's. She's having a small dinner party thing."

"Fancy," says Ian.

"The fanciest," Nick agrees.

"Nick where did this even come from?" asks Aimee, walking into the kitchen with the shirt she was after, as well as a purple sequined miniskirt.

"I bought it," says Nick, raising an eyebrow. "My legs look incredible in it."

"I have no doubt. All right, we need to go, Chaloner, you ready?"

"All set," says Ian.

Aimee gives Nick a hug and a quick peck on the lips, and then pulls Harry into a long embrace. "Don't stay gone so long this time, huh?"

He pats her back. "I'll try not to."

Nick passes him the kettle to pour into their mugs, and walks Aimee and Ian to the door to say goodbye. When he gets back Harry's carried their tea to the living room and sat down cross-legged on the floor at the coffee table. Nick grabs a box of ginger biscuits from the pantry before joining him, slumping onto the sofa.

"How was the show?" he asks, gesturing to Harry's hair, which is swept back and up into 18th century composer chic, the way he does it for events.

"Was good," says Harry, snagging a couple of biscuits. He passes one to Nick. "Loud, a lot of people there. Got to wear my coat."

"That's all that really matters."

"Well, yeah," says Harry. He looks really good and Nick's overly aware of his own heartbeat. He's trying to hard to be normal, and Harry's maintaining an unnecessary level of eye contact like he's trying to see inside Nick's head. Immediately and without his consent the centerfold of the first dirty magazine Nick ever wanked off to pops into his mind. Harry doesn't react. Nick takes a breath.

"How's your mum and Robin?"

"They're good. Really excited about going to Hollywood. Reckon I'll be doing a lot more touristy things than I've done there before. Mum's bought a load of sundresses and big hats to wear."

Nick grins. He adores Anne. "Good to know that some your family know how to go outside with getting sunburned."

Harry makes a face. "Hey, mine's all healed now!"

"Liar," says Nick, just to be contrary.

"D'you want to see?" Harry asks, already getting to his feet. He turns around and starts walking backward toward Nick, pulling at the hem of his shirt. Nick laughs, shoving at him when he wriggles his arse in Nick's face and pulls his shirt up so Nick can see his shoulder blades.

"No, you arsehole! Jesus Christ, can't go three minutes without taking your clothes off."

Harry's laughing, pleased with himself. He trips sideways over Nick's legs and tumbles onto the sofa, nearly squishing Puppy who jumps to the floor and barks at him excitedly. Nick huffs and shoves him again. Harry pinches his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger, still grinning. "Did you see?"

"Yes, I saw. You're a tanned and glorious goddess now."

"Absolutely right I am," Harry sniffs.

 

 

They take a taxi to Kate's and let themselves in once they arrive, Puppy leading the way. It's a small gathering, considerably smaller than Nick was expecting. There are three couples that Nick has met several times but Harry has not, Kate and Jamie, and now Nick and Harry. He's momentarily stymied; he's just waltzed into a couples gathering. This won't be awkward at all.

Kate cries out when she sees them and rushes over from the living room, where everyone's gathered round chatting.

"Nick! And Harry! God, it's been ages."

"I'm sorry I missed your birthday," Harry tells her, hugging her and kissing her cheek.

"You should be," says Kate, leading them into the living room. "Come in and meet everyone. You know Jamie."

"Hey, yeah, how are you?" Harry says, and shakes a smiling Jamie's hand.

"Good, mate. Yourself?" Jamie asks. He's balancing two glasses of wine in one hand, so Nick takes one helpfully and Jamie laughs, giving him a one-armed hug.

"Good, yeah, thanks," says Harry.

Kate points to each of her guests in turn as he introduces them. "Harry, this is Ryan and his wife Jenny, Naomi and her boyfriend Lucas, and Pete and his boyfriend Marc. Everyone, this is Harry Styles, and you remember his boyfriend Nick."

Everyone bursts out laughing, and Nick's heart starts to pound. He forces a smile and an eye roll and drapes himself over Harry's back. "Everywhere we _go_ , darling."

"I know, muffin," says Harry, playing along. He boops Nick on the nose. Everyone laughs again, and being part of the joke instead of the butt of it makes Nick breathe a little easier, but it sets a dangerous precedent for the rest of the night.

Nick steps outside for a fag after pudding. It's chilly outside but nice and quiet, which is a relief after three courses spent sitting next to Harry under a barrage of constant jokes and innuendo as to the nature of their relationship.

He takes his time outside, smokes his cigarette down to the filter and really enjoys the last drag. He stubs it out in the ashtray on the railing of the terrace, and jumps when the door behind him opens. It's Harry, in his oversized jumper, hair pulled into a little ponytail right on top of his head. He's had a bit to drink, his cheeks pink, and he gives Nick a wan smile. Nick huffs a quiet laugh.

"Hiya, Pup."

Harry lopes up next to him, close enough that their arms touch. There's not much of a view when it's so dark, but they look out over Kate's garden anyway. "D'you remember why you started calling me that?"

Nick shrugs. "'You were seventeen years old. Just a puppy."

"Was just a joke. Not even very clever of you, really, as far as nicknames go."

"Stuck though, didn't it?"

Harry gives a quiet laugh, hunching over a bit to rest his elbows on the railing. "S'pose so, yeah."

They're quiet for a bit. Now that he's made himself stop Nick wants to touch Harry more than ever, wants to kiss him. He doesn't understand how being with him can hurt so much and feel so good at the same time. The world's paradox: Harry Styles.

"So I've been thinking," says Harry.

"Don't hurt yourself."

Harry just grins at him. "Since Sunday, I've been thinking about what you said."

Nick lets out a surprised little laugh. "Me too."

"I think it's stupid."

Nick has no idea what he expected him to say, but that wasn't it. He stares at him, and when Harry doesn't expand on it he asks, "Which part?"

"The us not being together part."

"So all of it, then."

"Pretty much."

Nick sighs, the hair on the back of his neck and his arms standing up. "Harry, mate, c'mon."

"No, really. Like, you decide we shouldn't fuck anymore, and you say we're still gonna be mates, and then you take off and don't talk to me for a week."

Nick blinks. Harry is the most level-headed, least confrontational person Nick has ever met. "You're angry."

Harry shakes his head, brow furrowed. "No, I'm not. I'm just. I don't understand, and I think you're wrong."

"About what?" Nick asks, bewildered. "What don't you understand?"

Harry stands up straight again and turns to face Nick properly. "How is not sleeping together going to change anything? How is it going to make things any better?"

" Jesus, Harry, are you serious?"

"Yes!" Harry insists. "Tell me. Explain it to me. Do you feel better now that we've stopped?"

"Of course not. Not yet. It's only been a week."

"How much time is it going to take then? This week has fucking sucked, Nick, and we could've spent it together."

Nick clenches his jaw, hackles rising. "Right, we could've spent this week together, with your family, in your new house, and it would've been fucking great right up until you jetted off to fucking Los Angeles again."

"But that's going to happen anyway!" Harry argues, voice rising. "I'm going to LA, and I'm going on tour. It sucks either way! It's still going to hurt, isn't it? We're still going to miss each other. I don't understand why having no like, no intimacy at all is any better than having as much as we can."

"Because it fucking _hurts_ , Harry! Jesus, did you hear a thing I said the other morning? This part-time thing is painful."

"This not at all thing is painful, too. Denying what we have between us hurts too. We've spent the last twelve hours pretending everything's normal and that's such shit, Nick. You mean fucking everything to me."

"Oh please," Nick says nastily, rolling his eyes. "Me and every other bloody person you know. You fall in love with every person you meet, even if it's just for a night."

"That's not fair," Harry says, clenching his fists at his sides. He looks just as hurt as he does angry.

"You're twenty years old, that's how it should be, but I can't do it anymore. I want more."

"So you're taking less? That doesn't make sense!"

"God, you have no idea how—" Nick cuts off, mouth trembling. He scrubs a hand over his face and back through his hair, trying to calm down. "You've got no fucking clue how fucked up you've got me. You're off running around LA or Jamaica or who the fuck knows where and I'm sat here wishing you were home, and you don't even want to be!"

"But it's not," Harry starts, and then stops and growls, frustrated, tugging at his hair. "I miss you too! I can't stop thinking about you."

"That's shit. You can't stop thinking about me until the second I'm out of sight."

"That's not true," Harry says, hurt.

Nick's eyes are wet. He laughs meanly, scrubbing at them. "Well that's how it bloody well feels, you arsehole."

"So what? You just. We just stay miserable and pretend things aren't different between us now, and I just have to watch you go off with fucking Billy and like, Nicco? How is that any different? They're your friends! You're fucking them! How are they any different?"

"Because they're not you!" Nick explodes. "Because I'm not in love with them! Because I'm not pining after them like a bloody idiot. Because I don't fucking care who else they're fooling around with, but when I think of you with anyone else I lose my _fucking_ mind."

"But how is that going to be any different if we're not fucking than if we are?" Harry sounds so frustrated, and close to tears, and Nick's heart just feels fractured.

"It's not," he says, all the fight gone out of him. "It's _not_ , right now. And it won't for a while. It'll make it so much worse for a while."

"Then why—"

"Because maybe one day I'll be able to get over you. Maybe, if we're just friends, and I can't—" his voice breaks. He takes a deep breath. "And I can't touch you like that, and have you in my bed just to watch you leave it again, maybe it'll stop hurting so much not having it."

"But you _can_ have it," Harry says, hardly a whisper. "I don't want you to get over me."

Nick offers a cruel smirk. "Well, it's about bloody time someone finally told you 'no', kiddo."

Harry flinches, and Nick doesn't apologize. He turns away and digs in his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, his hands shaking as he lights another. When he looks back Harry is gone.

He only smokes half his fag, miserably stubs it out and walks back inside. Everyone but their host is playing some sort of game in the living room, mostly drunk and laughing at lot. Nick finds Kate in the kitchen, pouring coffee and setting little chocolates on a platter.

"Hey, love," she says when she sees Nick, smiling. "All right?"

"Yeah, just been for a smoke. Time's it?"

"Nearly midnight," she says. "I thought you'd take off by now, since you've got to work in the morning. Harry just left, thought you'd go with him."

Nick shakes his head, trying to smile. It's so hard. Everything about this is so hard. "He's going to one of the band's places tonight, they've got a thing in the morning, I think. Nowhere near my flat."

"They're getting ready to start touring again soon, aren't they?"

"Pretty soon." He kisses her cheek, and she presses a chocolate to his lips until he takes it in his mouth. "Fank 'oo."

"You're welcome. They're Belgian."

Nick swallows, barely tasting it. "I should head out too, though, you're right. Say goodbye to everyone? And thank your husband for me?"

She smiles. "Of course."

She walks him out and sits with him until his taxi arrives. He watches her disappear back inside as they drive off, and then puts his head in his hands and just tries to breathe.

"I'm a wound licker," He tells his dog a couple hours later. He's sprawled out on his living room floor, his heart somewhere in the vicinity of his stomach. He's only wearing pants and his heating is buggered, so it's too cold, but he doesn't bother getting up, or even pulling the afghan down from the sofa. Puppy, standing over him, has a foul squeak toy in her mouth that's been blackened in spots by the sheer amount of drool its absorbed. It smells bloody awful and she keeps knocking it against his face. He sighs at her. "I mean, I usually hate to be by myself but when I'm feeling hurt I like to be by my lonesome and mope. I'm a wound licker."

Puppy smacks her gross toy against his cheek. Nick takes it and lobs it away and she takes off after it. It only gives him a moment of respite; she's back again in seconds. He lets out a deep breath and she squeaks her toy at him.

"You're not though, are you? You like a good cuddle when you're sad." He considers her for a moment, frowning thoughtfully. "I mean I suppose you might be. Isn't that where that saying comes from? Dogs licking their wounds?"

She squeaks her toy at him again.

"You are a wound licker. And an ear licker. And a crotch licker. And an arse sniffer."

She takes off when he throws her toy again and he rolls onto his side, curling his knees in a bit because it's cold. He's freezing his bollocks off. They're probably turning blue. He's suffering both literal and metaphorical blue balls. The laugh gets caught in his throat and his eyes sting. It's so quiet in his flat, he hasn't bothered to turn the TV or any music on, and it's half two in the morning. He's too emotional to sleep. He has to present an award tomorrow night, and go to work in a few hours. It's going to be a miserable day.

 

 

On Tuesday after the show, heartsick and not wanting to be alone, Nick rings Sadie from the taxi on his way home.

"Nick!" she answers brightly. "Hi, love, it's been ages!"

His lips start trembling just at the sound of her voice. He takes a deep breath. "Hey, hiya. How are you?"

"I'm fine. Good! Got the day to myself, even, kids all have plans after school."

God, that's so convenient. "Yay," he cheers, and she laughs.

"What are you up to?"

"Not much, on my way home from work, thought I'd ring you and see if you wanted to get lunch?"

She hums thoughtfully. "How about you come over and eat here instead? I'm not dressed to go out and would prefer to stay that way."

"You're brilliant," Nick tells her.

"I know. See you soon?" she says.

Nick agrees and they hang up, and he takes Puppy for a walk and then gets a taxi to her house. They order Indian food and chat for a bit until it arrives, and then they eat at her dining room table, sitting across from each other. He's been there for about an hour and they've made their way through most of the food they ordered before she clears her throat, tops off both their glasses of wine, and gives him a meaningful look.

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong then?" she asks.

Nick blinks, doing his best to look politely confused. "What? Nothing. I'm fine."

"Nicholas, please," she says, her expression sympathetic.

He goes back and forth with her for a while, insisting that he's just fine, only a bit tired, but she doesn't buy it for a moment. Nick has so many friends, and so many that he's incredibly close to, and who know almost every secret he has, but only Sadie and Gillian know about him and Harry. It wasn't intentional, they never talked about who they could or couldn't tell. It was never supposed to be anything to really tell anyone about, but Nick had made a point of not mentioning it to Aimee or Pixie or any of their other mutual close friends. Gillian and Sadie both adore Harry, but they're further removed from him, more Nick's friends than his, and of the two of them, only Sadie knows how Nick really feels about him. He loves her to death and always enjoys spending time with her, but it wasn't on a whim that he called her up today.

"All right," he says finally, with a smile on his face that feels fragile. "All right, fine, I'm a bit..."

"Miserable," she says. He groans and rubs a hand over his face, feeling exhausted, and she rubs his leg with her foot comfortingly under the table. "What's going on, love?"

He pushes his plate out of the way and props his elbows on the table, folding his hands so the knuckles are white. "Harry got home last weekend."

"Oh yeah?"

He nods, swallowing hard. "He called when I was on air and everything."

"Aw," says Sadie, smiling a bit. "He missed you."

"Yeah. Yeah, he invited me over for the weekend—his house is finally finished—and so I went Friday night, and it was just. God, it was a really good weekend."

"Sounds lovely," Sadie says delicately.

Nick nods glumly, staring at his hands. "It was great. It was too great."

"Oh, sweetheart."

He lets out a soft, self-deprecating laugh. "Yeah. I sort of. On Sunday morning I sort of broke things off, told him that it was too hard for me."

Sadie pushes her chair back and stands up, walks around the table to sit next to Nick. Her small hand smoothes over the curve of his spine. "How did he take it?"

Nick has the sudden urge to cry. There's something unclenching in his chest, finally talking about it, saying it all out loud, but it's a bit like salt in the wound. "Made him cry," he says, voice gruff. He clears his throat. "Y'know, it was just. Sad. He was hurt and felt rejected. I may have said too much."

"How do you mean?"

He gestures vaguely with one hand. "Just like, I told him that I'm in love with him, and that I want, like. Jesus, I pretty much told him I want him to be my boyfriend and move in with him and marry him and have his babies."

Sadie snorts, still rubbing his back. "Really?"

"No, but I told him I wanted him to be my boyfriend, and that I wanted to be exclusive and shit, and that I know he isn't ready for any of that."

"I'm so sorry, Nick."

Nick turns to look at her, shrugging. "God I'm so bloody into him and I want to see him all the time, and he's just. Not. He's not in the same place. He's all but planning to move to LA. I wasn't like giving him an ultimatum or anything, even though he probably thinks that."

"Oh, no, I'm sure he doesn't," says Sadie. "I'm sure he understands."

"He doesn't," Nick tells her, laughing humourlessly. "I saw him yesterday, and things were good. A bit weird, but good, and then we went to Kate's for a dinner party and got in a fight there about it. He doesn't understand at all."

She frowns. "What was he saying?"

"He just doesn't get how it makes anything better to not have him at all." Nick takes another drink of his wine, and then finishes the glass, mind caught on the memory of Harry's hurt face last night. "He told me that he's giving me everything that he can. It's like I'm telling him he's not enough. I don't want him to feel like that. It's not about that."

"I know it's not," Sadie murmurs, squeezing the back of his neck gently.

"He's such a like, old soul that I forget how young he is. He's hurt and angry, and I'm hurt and angry. I've never fought with Harry before."

"Few people have, probably," says Sadie, offering a small grin. "Just makes you all the more special."

Nick laughs, and when his breath hitches Sadie pulls him into a hug. He hooks his chin over her shoulder and squeezes his eyes shut. He's spent his whole life waiting for love, waiting to fall in love, waiting for someone he could never get bored of, and now that he's found it he hates it. It's awful. He feels young and foolish and disappointed. Love is the worst.

"Love is the worst," he tells Sadie.

She squeezes him tighter. "I know, love. Trust me, I know."

 

 

He wakes up the morning of the Brit awards with sleep in his eyes and his alarm blaringly loud. He grabs his phone to turn it off, and waits for his eyes to adjust to check the new text he has. It's from Harry, the first he's heard from him since Monday night. _My mum has the scarf you wanted to wear tonight at my house. You can pick it up if you like. She'd love to see you. xx_

His heart sinks to his knees and he shakes his phone, aggravated at how great Harry is. _I'll drop by this afternoon. Can't wait!_ he sends back, and gets out of bed.

The show on Brits day is always a lot of fun. It's easier to take his mind off things when he's got Finchy and Fiona and the rest of the country to talk to. When it's over, they have a meeting to set up plans for the evening and the shower tomorrow. Nick plans on being hungover.

"We all plan on being hungover," says Ian.

"I'm hoping to still be drunk," Finchy says.

Nick loves his team.

After work, he goes to lunch with Aimee and then home to shower and get dressed. He's going to travel to the O2 from Fincham's flat, and he makes a stop off at Harry's house on his way there. He has the code to the gate, which he punches in, feeling apprehensive. He's not dressed warmly enough but he feels himself sweating, anyway.

Robin opens the door, and the relief and disappointment make Nick let out a weird, hysterical giggle. He sounds like an idiot, but Robin just smiles hugely. "Nick! It's great to see you, son, come in."

Nick does, and shakes his hand when it's offered. He hasn't met Robin as many times as he's met Anne, but he's been very nice every time they've been around each other. "How are you? Harry said you had to work this past week."

"Yeah, unfortunately, I just arrived yesterday, but we're off to Los Angeles tomorrow. I can't wait! I've never been."

"It's a fun place," says Nick, uncharitably wishing that the entire city would sink into the ocean and never return.

"Would you like a drink or anything?" Robin asks, leading him into the living room.

Nick laughs. "No, thanks, I can't stay very long."

"You are cutting it close, aren't you? Harry left hours ago for the hotel to get ready with the other boys."

"Well," says Nick, "I have a bit more time than they do. There are some perks to not being in a world famous boyband."

"Nick!" comes a sudden shout, and Anne appears from the stairs, looking so much like Harry and smiling excitedly.

"Anne!" he shouts back, and they collide in a hug. He kisses her cheek. "You look gorgeous!"

"Oh shut up," she says, but flushes happily. "I was afraid you weren't going to stop by and see me."

"I would never," Nick promises. "I was just telling Robin that I've got it much easier than One Direction, don't have to arrive so early."

"Oh, sure," she says. "Harry's been gone for ages, but he had to spend the morning with his lawyers anyway. Did he tell you about the injunctions?"

Nick nods, frowning. "Yeah, he mentioned. Sounds awful. Are they just camping out here?"

"They've been all over, bothering Gemma and the gardener and whoever else is around whether he's here or not."

"I know he hates that," says Nick. "He doesn't mind it so much when they're bothering him, but he can't stand to subject you all to it."

"He worries so much about it," Anne agrees, shaking her head sadly. "I've told him not to, we're perfectly capable of taking care of ourselves, but you know Harry. He just worries all the time."

Nick smiles. "He loves you."

"He's so good."

"He's wonderful," says Nick. "All thanks to you."

"Oh, shut it," she says again.

"Well, all right, he's a bit nicer than you—oi!" he shouts when she pinches him in the arm, laughing.

"Enough out of you. Is that what you're wearing?"

Nick blinks. "Is it not good?"

"No, it's fine," says Anne, "will look great with that scarf. Harry has a jacket though that would look better with it. Let's go upstairs, you can give it a try."

Nick looks at Robin, who shrugs and settles down on the sofa, flipping the TV on. "Best go, Grimmy."

"Wouldn't dare not to," says Nick, offering Anne his arm.

They walk up the stairs like that, talking animatedly. Anne is thrilled to be in London and even more thrilled to go to LA in the morning. Nick takes another tour of the bedrooms on the first floor, now impeccably furnished.

"He did a really good job with this place," he tells Anne. There's a squashy, tufted armchair in the biggest of the spare rooms that is bright orange suede and completely mismatched with the rest of the room. It makes him smile just looking at it.

"He really did," Anne says as they make their way up the next flight of stairs. "His eccentricities sort of make it, don't they? My little weirdo."

Nick snorts. "Your other one is pretty weird, too."

"She is. I'm a breeder of weirdoes."

"Says something about you, doesn't it?"

"Absolutely not," says Anne. "Recessive genes. Let me find that jacket."

Nick sits on Harry's unmade bed, trying not to dwell on how well he fits in with this particular pack of weirdoes. He talks to Anne more often than his own mother, and he and Gemma meet up regularly for lunch. Nick's mum has Harry's number in her favourites, and there's an extra place set for him at the table every time Nick visits, just in case he's brought him. Somewhere in the last three years, they became family.

He's been wavering since his argument with Harry Monday night, but being here with Anne only strengthens his resolve. If he hadn't ended his physical relationship with Harry—if weeks or months of years down the line he started to resent him, or if he reached a point where it hurt so badly that Nick needed to break off ties with him completely—it would mean losing more than just Harry.

 

 

Nick looks great in Harry's jacket and scarf, and having his photo taken is always a good time. Their table is in a really good spot, and Nick _really likes beer._

"I love the Brits," he tells Fiona between award presentations, pleasantly tipsy. "Fifi. And you. I love you."

Fiona is drunker than he is. "I love you too, babe. You look wonderful."

"Thank you. You look stunning."

"I know," she says, and they laugh delightedly until Finchy tells them to be quiet.

A few minutes later, Nick clears his throat and pushes his chair back to get up; beer always makes him have to piss like mad. He pats Finchy and Fiona on their shoulders to let them know he's sneaking away, and rushes off. The toilets are oddly far away, but there's no one in them when Nick get there. He hurries to a urinal and has a wee, sighing in relief.

Once he's done he flushes, washes his hand and fixes his hair where his quiff has fallen a bit. When the door opens he turns to look with a winning smile, because making people vaguely uncomfortable with creepy huge smiles in the bathroom is a laugh, and in walks Harry Styles.

It's like a train wreck, just seeing him again. It hurts and it sends a hot thrill through him. Harry stands there like a weird pigeon-toed deer, and Nick stands there with his wet hands hovering above the sink. Neither of them says anything, and then without a word or a warning they crash together.

Nick doesn't even remember moving, but he's suddenly got Harry pinned to the door and is licking into his mouth. Harry's hot and smells so good and feels so good. His fingers dig into Nick's back and his mouth is hot and wet. He whimpers in his throat and Nick's pulse races, his blood hot. He threads his wet hands into Harry's stupid hair and kisses him like it's the last time. It's the last time.

"We can't," he gasps, breaking the kiss, but he can't make himself pull away. Harry's panting, his eyes incredibly green, his mouth red. Nick wants him more than he's ever wanted anything else in his life. It hurts his throat when he swallows. "God, we can't. I can't."

Harry looks desperate. "I'm leaving for LA in the morning."

Nick reluctantly lets him go, takes his weight off so they can stand up straight again. His body feels like it's burning in the absence of Harry's. Harry's waiting for him to ask him to stay, and Nick wants to so badly. He tries to smile. "Send me a post card."

Harry's laugh is wet. "I will."

There are voices outside. Nick steps back so Harry can move away from the door. Five men walk in between them, blocking Harry from sight. It's better that way. Nick leaves without saying goodbye.


End file.
